


Absolution

by ladylapislazuli



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Forced Marriage, M/M, Unreliable Narrator, Unrequited Love, loving!Thor, manipulative!Loki
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-16
Updated: 2014-05-20
Packaged: 2017-12-12 01:17:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 54,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/805468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladylapislazuli/pseuds/ladylapislazuli
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Three weeks. For three weeks, Loki had been married to Thor. For three weeks, Loki had had to endure Thor’s clumsy attempts at romance, everything from flowers to jewels to candlelit dinners, each one more insulting than the last.</p>
<p>Loki personally thought he deserved some sort of medal for not having stabbed Thor to death with a fork by now.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally posted for my own prompt over at norsekink.
> 
> A massive thank you to the incredible [Ingu](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Ingu) for beta reading this for me. And for being so endlessly patient with my ranting.

It was Loki’s wedding day.

 

He stood before Odin, before the whole of Asgard, and beside his brother.

 

His _brother_.

 

While Loki held no great love for Thor, he was still raised with the brute. Together they had grown from babes to boys, from boys to men, all under the watchful eyes of their oh-so-loving parents. Yet Odin stood before them now, binding them eternally in marriage, without so much as batting an eyelid. Frigga stood to the side in her voluminous red gown, jewels around her neck and on her fingers, looking as serene and beautiful as Loki had ever seen her.

 

Loki had, of course, forgotten that he was never really part of the family in the first place. How foolish of him. Why should they care that Loki didn’t want this, that he couldn’t bear the thought of Thor’s arms around him, Thor’s kisses on his lips? He was no child of theirs, and if their beloved golden son wanted the Jotun criminal in his bed, why should they complain? Thor was one of the only people on Asgard who could truly control Loki. With his magic bound within him, Loki could not fight his brother.

 

He felt Thor’s hand wrap around his wrist, squeezing it gently as Odin blathered on. Loki made no attempt at discretion when he yanked it back. Let all of Asgard know of his hatred. Thor, unperturbed, gave him what was clearly his attempt at a comforting smile. If Loki had his magic, he’d have melted his face off.

 

The ceremony was coming to an end, and Loki turned his attention back to the king. Odin was saying the final words, the words that would sentence Loki forever. Thor was watching him closely, intently, as though waiting for Loki to make his escape. Loki knew there would be no escape, not now. He was trapped.

 

“From this day forth, I, Odin Allfather, pronounce you united by the eternal bonds of matrimony.”

 

There was silence. Loki stared at his boots, the weight of the king’s words reverberating through him. It was done, whether or not he consented to it in the first place. It was done.

 

He felt more than saw Thor lean towards him for the customary matrimonial kiss. He turned his head away, blatantly rejecting his brother. Thor merely gave an annoyed little growl at the show of disobedience. He put an arm around Loki’s shoulders, tugging him into the kind of embrace he used to give Loki when they were younger – the kind that usually meant Loki was about to be subjected to vigorous hair-rubbing, while he struggled and Thor laughed. This time, however, Thor simply pressed a kiss to his hairline, then released him.

 

There was polite applause from the audience, but Loki did not look at them even as Thor turned to bask in their attention. It was Thor’s grand moment, Thor’s victory, not Loki’s. Never Loki’s. He felt Thor’s firm hand grab him by the wrist, tugging him forward. Resistance now would only make this even more of a spectacle, and he had no desire to be forcibly dragged along by Thor’s superior strength, once again proving his own inferiority. So Loki went quietly. He was led by his brother into the feasting hall, where celebrations would no doubt go well into the night. Celebrations for whom, Loki was uncertain. The people of Asgard were no happier about his return than he was. No doubt they celebrated the taming of wicked, monstrous Loki by their mighty Golden Prince.

 

Thor led him over to the feasting table, then released him in favour of pulling out Loki’s chair. Loki gave him a withering look. But Thor merely rolled his eyes, taking it good-naturedly. He stepped back and allowed Loki to seat himself. How magnanimous of him.

 

The oaf clunked down next to Loki like a sack of potatoes, immediately piling food onto his plate, tearing into it with unseemly enthusiasm. Thor had always lacked even the most basic of manners. Yet somehow that was seen as quintessentially masculine, the mark of a warrior. Personally, Loki could see nothing particularly impressive about it when a piece of meat flew from Thor’s mouth to land on Loki’s sleeve. He brushed it off with a look of disgust.

 

The feast was much the same as all of Asgard’s feasts. There was food flying everywhere, mead sloshing all over the tables and floor, and increasingly-intoxicated warriors boasting loudly of their outrageous victories. Loki ignored the way they hollered and catcalled at them, the way they always did a newlywed couple. Thor was engaged in an animated conversation with the Warriors Three, and kept banging the table and laughing deafeningly near Loki’s ear. Lady Sif looked tight around the eyes and kept shooting Loki suspicious glances, but she too joined in the festivities with gusto, mead dribbling down her chin as she laughed.

 

As soon as Odin and Frigga retired for the evening, Loki got up as well. Thor grabbed him by the hand.

 

“Stay, Loki! Feast with us!”

 

“Goodnight, your Highness,” Loki said coldly. He yanked his hand out of Thor’s, turning and stalking out of the hall. He could feel mistrustful eyes following him as he went.

 

Just as Loki was turning the corner to his own chambers, he heard Thor call his name. He clenched his fists, lips curling back from his teeth. Slowly he turned, giving Thor a dark look, but the fool walked towards him with all the arrogant confidence in the world. He seemed _happy_ , despite the servitude he had forced Loki into.

 

“What is it?” Loki hissed. Thor did not even blink at the venom in Loki’s tone.

 

“You will no longer be sleeping in your old chambers,” Thor said. His brows furrowed when Loki’s expression shifted to one of disgust.

 

“I see. I suppose you cannot _wait_ to mount your little whore-”

 

“Loki!” Thor looked thoroughly taken aback. “Do not speak so. You will have your own chambers. I have simply moved them closer to mine.”

 

“Easy access?”

 

“Loki!” Thor admonished again, scolding him as though he had the _right_. “You are ever my brother, ever a _prince_ , and you will be treated with the dignity of your rank.” Loki snorted. Thor paused, his face shifting uncomfortably, any hint of anger or irritation being quickly replaced by a look of discomfort. He clumsily forged on, watching his brother’s face carefully, knowing very well that he was treading on thin ice. “We are wed, brother, but there are some in Asgard who still bear you a grudge.”

 

“You really thought marrying me would solve that?” Loki snorted derisively. Thor ignored him.

 

“I know it is not what you desired, but…” He frowned, his hands fidgeting as they so often did whenever a conversation grew difficult. He shook his golden head, squaring his shoulders and speaking once more with a decisive finality that made Loki want to throttle him. “It is for the best. I moved you for your safety, brother. I will rest easier, knowing that I will be nearby should anyone try to harm you during the night.”

 

“Oh, my _hero_.”

 

Thor made no response, instead offering his arm to Loki so that they may walk together like man and _wife_. Loki stared at the offending limb until Thor retracted it, his brows furrowing again. He beckoned, and Loki had no choice but to follow him unless he wanted to spend the night sleeping on cold stone. He glared daggers at the back of Thor’s head.

 

“Here we are,” Thor said, pushing open a large wooden door, turning to smile at him and beckon him inside. Loki stalked past, head held high. He was… pleasantly surprised. His chambers were large and spacious, and there was not a scrap of red or gold, nor a bear-skin rug to be seen. Instead, it was elegantly furnished in soft shades of green and silver. There were several large book cases already filled with his books, a sturdy writing table, comfortable-looking chairs scattered about, and an enormous four-poster bed in the corner. There was a door leading into a large dressing room, and another into a private bathing room. It was… pleasing.

 

“Do you like it?” Thor asked. Only now did Loki realise the oaf had been watching him intently.

 

“It will do,” Loki said. The oaf seemed to take this as the highest compliment, his face splitting into a huge grin.

 

“Then I shall leave you to it. Goodnight, dear brother.” He hesitated, then reached out to embrace Loki, who moved backwards abruptly. He even had the gall to look disappointed. No one had _ever_ denied mighty Prince Thor what he wanted, Loki thought sourly. “May I not have a kiss?”

 

“Not unless you plan to take it through brute force,” he replied coldly. It was best to deal with such a confrontation as soon as possible when it came to Thor, all tact and subtlety thrown out the window. And, though he hated to admit it, Loki could not stand the thought of waiting, could not stand the uncertainty it would bring. Better to know what he was dealing with early on.

 

“I would never force you.” Thor had stepped back, a horrified look dancing across his face as though it had only just occurred to him what position he had placed his brother in. His stupidity was astounding, but he was not a malicious man. “You will always have a say, Loki.”

 

“Oh indeed?” Loki glanced around pointedly. Thor sighed.

 

“Believe me, Loki, if there were any other way…”

 

“To do what, exactly? I fail to see how forcing me to _marry_ you was the only possible solution to our predicament.”

 

“It is the only way I can keep you safe.” The oaf had his most princely expression on as he said it, no doubt marvelling at his own nobility. Loki was unimpressed.

 

“Yes, because I have always been in such desperate need of your protection, delicate little flower that I am.”

 

“I know it is… not what you desire.” Thor looked away, the corners of his lips turning down. When he looked back, however, he seemed to have pushed any doubt to the side, and was as self-righteous as ever. “I would not have forced this on you if I had any other choice, but you left me none.  This is the only way I can guarantee your safety, and ensure you inflict no more harm on others.”

 

“If you expect me to believe your intentions honourable, you are a fool. You are a selfish man, Thor. You always have been.”

 

“I do not claim to be perfect, brother.”

 

Loki laughed aloud at that.

 

“ _Loki_ ,” Thor said growled. “Let me finish. I am not perfect. But I would not inflict such unhappiness on you without good reason. You must know that.”

 

“Must I indeed?”

 

Thor made a frustrated noise, then jerked forward to put his hands on Loki’s shoulders, turning him around. “I do not take pleasure in your distress. You know how I love you, Loki.”

 

Loki stared at him, raising one elegant brow. He _did_ know. He had always _known_ , for he was far too clever and Thor far too stupid to conceal, or even _realise_ , his own feelings, fickle and conditional as they were.

 

Thor had always watched him with the protective gaze of an older sibling, but at some point during their youth Thor’s glances had changed, so minutely it was almost imperceptible, but changed nonetheless. Thor himself had not noticed, and Loki had not realised quite what it meant. But blue eyes would trace Loki’s lithe frame, the warmth in them not entirely fraternal.

 

Then they had grown apart, and Thor’s glances were dismissive before he stopped looking at Loki all together. He occupied himself with his idiotic friends and a long string of wenches. Loki was ever-present, but he had stopped really _looking_ at him. He never noticed the distance that had grown between them, did not notice when Loki spent less and less time in his company. Yet somehow he _did_ notice the elven ambassador’s hand running up Loki’s thigh at dinner one night and reacted explosively. He looked on his brother almost as a _possession_ , there whenever Thor wanted him, but of no interest when he did not.

 

Loki had thought the warm look in Thor’s eyes had faded forever. When they fought on the Bifrost, there had been no trace of it. Thor’s affections for his mortal woman had dampened any residual love for his brother. He had chosen _her_ , had fought the brother he had known and supposedly loved for millennia to protect a mortal girl he had known for mere days. She was more important to him in that moment than the man he called his brother. For _her_ Thor had changed his ways. Not for Loki.

 

Then he fell from the Bifrost, and when Thor pulled him from the mortals’ air-borne vessel the _look_ was back. The heated look, dampened as it was by Thor’s sorrow, and almost buried by his anger. That feeling drove Thor to higher levels of stupidity than he had ever before exhibited, his steadfast loyalty to Loki nearly being the death of him. And Loki’s attempts to quell it only made Thor more desperate.

 

Still, the Mighty Thor was victorious, and wicked prince Loki was dragged back to Asgard in chains, muzzled like a dog, disgraced and humiliated in his defeat. He was thrown in a dark cell as all of Asgard feasted in celebration of Thor’s triumph. Yet despite everything, Thor was not happy. He visited Loki every day, his eyes filled with sadness and _that look_. And somewhere along the line, the oaf decided he would marry Loki, bind his brother to him in a tie he could not break. He had decided he loved him. And as always, he got his way.

 

All of this Loki knew. Yet all he said was, “I see your mortal woman did change you after all. Now if you would be so kind, I wish to retire for the evening. Leave.”

 

Thor looked like he might argue, but after a long look at Loki’s face he decided to let the matter go. His eyes looked very sad, and Loki couldn’t escape the feeling that he’d kicked a puppy. A particularly large, stupid puppy. Thor bowed to him, then turned and left his chambers without another word.

 

\- - -

 

 

There was a loud knock on his door that jolted Loki from sleep the next morning. Disgruntled, he stumbled out of bed, rubbing sleep out of his eyes. He threw a dressing gown over his nightclothes, shooting a dark look at the door. Someone, and Loki would be willing to bet it was Thor, just kept knocking and knocking.

 

It was Thor. Loki leaned against the door frame, staring at his revoltingly cheerful excuse for a newlywed husband. The man had a large tray in his hands and a stupid grin on his face. His hair was damp, and he smelt strongly of the lavender soap he favoured. Loki’s nose wrinkled.

 

“What?” he said, his voice still husky with sleep. Thor’s eyes swept over him, taking in the sleep-rumpled hair, the black silk dressing gown, and the grumpy, still-sleepy expression on Loki’s face. Thor’s smile softened, a fond chuckle leaving his lips. Loki’s glare intensified.

 

“I have brought you breakfast!”

 

“At this hour?”

 

“Brother, it is mid-morning. I have been up since dawn, in the training arena.”

 

“Well, how nice for you,” Loki said, voice laced with sarcasm. Thor did not seem to notice.

 

“Aye, it was a morning well-spent. I have had practice bouts with many a worthy opponent.” He barged past Loki and placed the tray on the table. Loki rolled his eyes heavenward but shut the door, turning to face Thor with raised eyebrows. 

 

If Thor were better able to read him, he would see the cold calculation in Loki’s eyes, see the violence that welled in Loki’s chest, only to be quelled through sheer necessity, through the rational knowledge that he had to bide his time. But Thor did not see. He launched into a play-by-play account of his training matches, demonstrating how with a flick of his wrist he had disarmed Sif, how with one solid swing he had knocked Hogun off his feet. Loki paid him no heed.

 

He seated himself at the table, examining the dishes in front of him. There was a bowl of porridge, a loaf of sliced bread, a platter of cooked meat and poached eggs, several pieces of fruit, a pot of freshly-brewed tea, and a selection of jams and marmalades. Loki poured himself a cup of tea, sipping it as he eyed his dramatically gesturing brother. Thor’s eyes were glowing, his cheeks slightly flushed from a mixture of exercise and over-excitement, his golden hair windswept and wild as ever. Loki didn’t have the energy to shoo him off, even if his exuberance was overwhelming. He settled for glaring at him instead.

 

He selected a piece of bread, spreading butter and his favourite plum jam over it. Thor finally stopped jumping about like a lunatic and sat down on the other side of the table, digging into the eggs. Loki finished his bread but made no move to take any more, instead watching with morbid fascination as Thor devoured the rest of the tray’s contents. Loki wouldn’t have been surprised if Thor ate the tray itself, the way he was going.

 

He felt a venomous remark building up inside him but held his tongue, though it left a bitter taste in his mouth. There was no point in arguing with Thor over the breakfast table. There was nothing Loki could do at present, and it would serve him well to remain civil, no matter how much he wanted to tear into his oafish brother. It was, he decided, better to foster Thor’s affection for him at this point. To some extent, anyway. If Thor grew to despise him, Loki had no doubt he would be taken back to Odin and executed.

 

Thor sighed contentedly, leaning back in his chair and rubbing his belly. “Ah, what a fine meal. Will you walk with me in the gardens, Loki? It is a magnificent day.”

 

Once again, Loki forced back a venomous retort. He could abide Thor’s company no longer, but it was better to be distant than vicious. Viciousness might prompt an argument, and an argument would only ensure that Thor remained longer. Thor was never one to run from combat, whether it be physical or verbal.

 

“No, thank you,” Loki forced out. “I have other matters to attend to.”

 

Thor looked disappointed, but stood obligingly. Loki stood too, opening the door for him. The oaf smiled, a softness in his eyes that made Loki’s stomach twist uncomfortably.

 

“Thank you for breakfast,” he said. Loki was surprised. Thor had never thanked him for his time before.

 

Loki said nothing, simply inclined his head and waited for Thor to leave. Thor stepped closer instead, so close that Loki could feel the heat of his body, his arms reaching out for Loki. He tensed, taking an involuntary step backwards, his fingertips itching to summon magic that was no longer there. Thor’s smile faded and he promptly stepped back again, drawing Loki’s hand to his lips instead and pressing a courtly kiss to the back of it. As though Loki were a lady. He snatched his hand back.

 

“I… have a good day, Loki,” Thor said, offering him a pained smile.

 

Loki nodded tightly, ignoring the obvious hurt in Thor’s eyes. None of this was Loki’s fault. He had not asked to be married to Thor, nor for Thor to love him so, however fleeting that love may be. Thor’s eyes ran over his face once more, longing in their depths, and Loki was nearly overcome with the urge to slam the door in Thor’s face. This time, he gave in to the impulse, shutting the door with a loud _bang_ as soon as Thor had cleared its threshold.

 

Turning around only brought his attention back to the tray Thor had brought. Somehow, fine china shattering into a thousand pieces only made Loki angrier.

 

\- - -

 

 

Three weeks. For three weeks, Loki had been married to Thor. For three weeks, Loki had had to endure Thor’s clumsy attempts at romance, everything from flowers to jewels to candlelit dinners, each one more insulting than the last. Thor had mercifully given up on bold romantic gestures, but still kept holding Loki by the shoulder, brushing hair back from his face, kissing his hand once he discovered it was the only kiss he would tolerate without violent objection, despite the grimace on Loki’s face each time he did it. Loki personally thought he deserved some sort of medal for not having stabbed Thor to death with a fork by now.

 

When Loki walked into the feasting hall mid-afternoon, it was to find Thor and his idiotic friends stuffing their faces with meat and roast potatoes. He was very tempted to walk straight back out again when he saw the way Thor’s whole face lit up at the sight of him, but obligingly walked over at Thor’s call. The oafish grin fell slightly when Loki seated himself several seats away, despite Thor’s gesture to the empty chair beside him, but Thor barrelled on as though nothing had happened. Loki could feel Sif’s hard eyes on his face, but he ignored her in favour of picking out some of the remaining vegetables from the platters in front of them. Loki was hungry, after all, and he could not spend the rest of his life avoiding Thor and his band of merry morons. He had more important things to do.

 

“Loki! We are going out riding this evening. Will you join us?” Thor had cut Fandral off mid-story and was staring at Loki with enthusiastic intensity, a stupid grin plastered across his face. Loki eyed him in distaste.

 

“No thank you.”

 

“Come now, surely you can spare a few hours. It will be just like old times! It has been many months now since you last ventured out on horseback, your mare will no doubt be missing you.”

 

“Again, no thank you.”

 

“Well…” Thor frowned, his booming voice trailing off. The pitying looks Thor was receiving, and the accusatory ones being sent in his own direction, were hardly soothing Loki’s temper. Still, Thor ploughed on. “Perhaps you would like to join us in a mountain climb?”

 

“No thank you.”

 

“A day by the lake?” Thor was grasping at straws now, but still he persisted. “I am sure you remember the fun we had when we were younger. Why, Fandral and I were discussing not long ago how good it would be to relive old times. Just the six of us.”

 

“I have no interest in such trivial nonsense,” Loki said scornfully. Thor looked at him with wounded blue eyes, but could not hold Loki’s impassive gaze. Fandral pressed a hand to Thor’s arm, but it was shaken off.

 

“You know, I remember a time when you used to follow us around, practically begging to join us in our adventures but never bold enough to ask,” Sif said. “You used to follow us down to the lake, and hide behind the big oak tree as though we couldn’t see you.” There were chuckles from around the table at the thought of the small, dark-haired child with the huge eyes stumbling after the bigger children, too shy to ever actually ask to play. Loki’s hand curled into a fist.

 

“And I remember a time when your hair was as golden as the sun, but time changes, does it not?” Sif stiffened, a retort already on her lips, eyes flashing with anger. Loki smiled coldly. “I also remember a time when you loved my good husband, no matter how vehemently you denied it. But then, some things _don’t_ change, do they?” Sif’s face was white with anger. He’d hit a nerve, it seemed.

 

“Loki, hold your tongue,” Thor growled. He stood abruptly, hurt forgotten in his anger, towering menacingly over them all. How quickly he lost control of his temper.

 

Thor had always been like that, even when they were children. His self-control had changed very little over the years, in truth, though to be fair he was less likely to throw a tantrum over a boiled sweet. Little Loki, in the face of Thor’s anger, would cry. Too young to know any better, too young to properly conceal weakness. He knew better now. Still, he wondered if Thor would yield just as easily at the sight of Loki’s distress as he did when they were young.

 

Forcing down a smile, Loki widened his eyes, recoiling from Thor’s imposing figure. His expression as he gazed up was a carefully-manufactured mixture of hurt and betrayal, followed by a blank mask. It was not his greatest performance, but it certainly seemed to fool Thor. “I apologise,” he murmured. “I beg your indulgence, my lord husband, for my insolence. I will not speak out of turn again.”

 

Guilt flashed across Thor’s face, and Loki could tell he was practically kicking himself for speaking so harshly to his skittish brother, having worked so hard to regain some semblance of trust. He backtracked clumsily. “It is not my intention to master you, Loki, you may speak as you will.”

 

“Excuse me,” Loki murmured, standing and bowing to him, then stalking towards the doors. He heard Thor curse and jostle the table in his haste to follow, but he did not stop. Thor had to run to catch him, gripping him by the wrist and turning him around, forcing him to face him.

 

“Loki, I apologise. You should not have spoken so, but it is not my place to reprimand you. Forgive me?” he said in a rush. Loki stared pointedly at Thor’s restraining hand on his wrist until he released him, looking rather helpless.

 

“How soon your affections waver, your Highness. I see that your true loyalty lies with your friends, as always. Please do not allow me to detain you.”

 

“No, Loki-” Thor grabbed him again.

 

“Please, your Highness, release me,” Loki said, voice barely above a whisper. Any louder and he doubted he could mask his amusement. There were crocodile tears welling in Loki’s eyes, his posture was rigid, and one look at his face and Thor was ready to grovel for forgiveness. Perfect.

 

“Loki, my love, forgive me,” Thor murmured urgently, hands coming up to cup his face. Loki shied away, making a pathetic little noise of distress. “Easy, brother.”

 

Thor caught him, one arm holding his waist, the other catching Loki’s chin so that he would look him in the eye. Thor looked genuinely distressed, all anger forgotten. Loki almost snorted in derision. The oaf had known him for millennia, yet still seemed incapable of reconciling Loki’s deeds, both the mischievous and outright cruel, with Loki himself. Ah well. If Thor was willing to see him as a fragile, weeping maiden, Loki could use that to his advantage.

 

A token bit of struggling enabled Loki to quickly scan Thor’s friends who, though too far away to hear anything, could clearly see them both. The Warriors Three had respectfully averted their gazes and were murmuring amongst themselves, but Sif was watching intently, the corners of her mouth turned down. He would have to keep an eye out for her. She was too clever for her own good.

 

“Let me go,” Loki said, as tearfully as he could manage. It was surprisingly difficult, he discovered, to make his voice crack in just the right way. He had rarely had cause to fake-cry in the past, largely because no one but Thor was stupid enough to believe him. He would have to practice.

 

“Loki, please just stop, _listen_ to me. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-”

 

“Thor, please, _please_ let me go. I can’t do this. Not now.” He sounded like the heroine in one of those novels Frigga occasionally read, giggling and blushing throughout. He had flicked through one on occasion, and would have questioned his mother’s intelligence if he did not know her better. Still, Thor seemed convinced, despite Loki’s miraculous transformation from unrepentant villain to damsel-in-distress.

 

Thor released him, looking pained, but backing off nevertheless. A few months ago Thor would have kept demanding answers until Loki snapped, but now… Now he just watched Loki with aching eyes, apologetic and pleading. Loki gave him no reprieve.

 

He turned away, all but running out of the feasting hall. His pace slowed as soon as he was out of sight, his tearful expression turning sour. Thor’s love meant nothing. It allowed Loki to manipulate him, but for how long would that last? Thor had fallen right back into his old ways, defending his friends at Loki’s expense.

 

Throwing one last glance back towards the feasting hall, Loki climbed the stairs and headed back to the solace of his room.

 

\- - -

 

 

Thor and Sif circled one another, weapons drawn and eyes filled with challenge. They danced in an intricate pattern, coming together and whirling away, darting and weaving with surprising grace considering the weight of their weapons and armour.

 

Loki leaned on the fence of the training arena, already bored with the proceedings. He never should have agreed to this. During breakfast with Thor (which had become an everyday occurrence, to Loki’s supreme annoyance), the man had practically bullied him into attending an afternoon sparring session. Not that Thor was ever able to intimidate Loki into anything. No, it was the whinging and the watery eyes that finally broke him.

 

With one large swing, Thor successfully disarmed Sif, sending her sprawling onto the ground in a decidedly undignified manner. His victory cry was cut short by his laughter, and Sif and Warriors Three joined in. Even Hogun cracked a smile. Loki did not.

 

Thor had reached down, gripping Sif by the arm and pulling her up, unnecessarily close. They stood mere inches apart, breathless and sweaty and laughing, hands clasped. Thor’s golden hair shone brightly in the sun, and the smile on his face was radiant. Loki turned away, stalking over to the large oak tree near the arena, leaning against its trunk. A few moments later Thor joined him, his eyes still bright and full, laughter still on his lips. He reached out to put his hand on Loki’s arm, but Loki jerked away.

 

“Don’t. You’re disgusting.” His tone was rather more venomous than he intended, and Thor frowned in confusion.

 

“Is something wrong, Loki?”

 

“Nothing whatsoever. I merely tire of these tedious activities.”

 

“You are not enjoying yourself?” Thor looked genuinely confused, as though the idea of someone not sharing his interests was unheard of.

 

“Much as I enjoy watching you and our dear Lady Sif paw at one another, my time could be more productively spent elsewhere.” Loki made to leave, but Thor caught him by the arm.

 

“Come now, brother. Will you not stay a little longer? You have not yet had a turn in the ring,” Thor said.

 

Loki snarled at him, throwing Thor’s hand off his arm. The oaf retreated, hurt in his eyes, before they suddenly and unexpectedly lit up. Loki could practically hear the _clunk_ in Thor’s brain as an idea popped into it. He stared at Loki with alarming intensity.

 

“Were you jealous?” he asked, in a tone that suggested he thought he’d hit the nail on the head. Loki’s lips curled back.

 

“Does my disinterest mean nothing to you, that you must construe any displeasure on my part as a sign of some hidden affection?” Loki snapped. Thor’s face fell. “Let it be put on record that I don’t care who you fall into bed with. Quite frankly, I whole-heartedly encourage you to find someone who will have you, if only to put an end to your ceaseless whining. What I object to is your _blatant stupidity_.”

 

“I… forgive me.” Thor’s head fell, the corners of his mouth turning down. Loki laughed coldly.

 

“Must you harass me with such foolishness everywhere we go?”

 

“Loki, I did not mean-”

 

He darted back, away from Thor’s reaching hands. All happiness had vanished from Thor’s face, his blue eyes miserable, hands still uselessly outstretched. He stared at Loki, hurt and disappointed, yet still patient with his refusals. That would be unlikely to last long. Thor was unaccustomed to being refused, and his disappointment turned easily into anger.

 

“Keep your hands to yourself,” Loki hissed.

 

“Loki, don’t leave. I did not mean to upset you.” Thor looked so wretched that Loki had to relent, though it pained him to do so.

 

“Then I will stay, for a time,” he said stiffly. When Thor reached for his hand, Loki jerked it back. The man was nothing if not persistent. “That was not an invitation to touch,” he hissed.

 

Loki stalked back to the arena, head held high, and after a moment Thor followed.

 

“Come on, ladies, we don’t have all day,” Fandral joked. Loki ignored him.

 

“I believe you and I have unfinished business, Loki. Will you join me in the ring?” Sif asked, leaning against a fencepost.

 

“You wish to spar with me so soon after your defeat at my brother’s hands, my lady?”

 

Sif gave him a savage grin. “It will make my victory that much sweeter, my prince.”

 

Loki gave her a cold smile in return, taking up a practice blade and stepping into the ring. “Then let us begin.”

 

They circled one another, Loki biding his time until Sif struck. She had never had his patience. Sure enough, Sif swung suddenly, Loki’s blade meeting hers with a loud _clang_. Then they truly began. They spun and whirled, parrying and thrusting, each searching for a weak point and finding none. There was no time to taunt or jeer at one another. Sif was fighting ferociously, and Loki met every swing of her blade with equal force.

 

He began to tire before she did, despite her previous bout with Thor. It had been some weeks since Loki had taken up arms, and longer still since he had nourished his body as he should. So finally, with an ease that shamed him, Sif sent his sword clattering out of his hands, bringing her own up to his throat. For a moment they simply stared at one another, panting. Then she laughed, her eyes shining brightly with her victory. She lowered her sword.

 

Loki turned away, moving to pick up his own weapon, which had ended up several feet away. He did not need to turn to know Sif was being heartily congratulated.

 

“Once again, you prove your worth as a warrior,” Thor was telling her, clapping her on the back.

 

“It was not a fair fight, truly,” Sif replied. “Loki is not at his full strength.”

 

“You are gracious as ever,” Thor laughed.

 

Loki, however, saw red. Sif had defeated him, and now she sought to further diminish him with mockery? His grip tightened on the practice sword. He whirled, flinging his blunted sword at her unsuspecting back. She fell to her knees with a cry of surprise, clutching at her shoulder. The tip of his blade, blunted as it was, had pierced the supple leather of her shoulder pad before clattering once more to the ground. When she pulled her hand away, it was streaked with blood.

 

He ignored the outraged shouts on Sif’s behalf, instead watching as Thor went to his knees with her, pulling leather away from her injured shoulder with practiced ease so he could inspect her injury. It was not deep, but it still bled. Thor tore a strip from his own shirt and wrapped it carefully around her shoulder to stem the blood. Sif would probably need stitches. The thought made Loki bare his teeth.

 

“I will ask you to leave now, Loki. Please.”

 

Thor’s voice was full of tightly constrained anger, his body practically vibrating with rage, much as he tried to contain it. It was an improvement from his usual roaring fury, but the man was still as fickle as ever. Still, he sided with his beloved friends, no matter how they riled Loki.

 

Loki could have growled with fury. Once more, he was betrayed, cast aside in favour of another. His hand reached towards the dagger hidden in his sleeve, but stopped short as he stared at his husband’s turned back. It was a stroke of devious inspiration that made Loki do what he did next.

 

“Thor?” he said, his voice deliberately faint. He made his body sway slightly, for the benefit of any onlookers. He knew as well as anyone of the bags under his eyes, of the gauntness of his cheeks, though only Loki knew them to be the result of long nights of planning and raging, in turn. Thor hardly looked at him, still too busy fussing over his _darling_ Sif.

 

“Thor,” he said again, allowing the slightest waver into his voice.

 

“Away with you, Loki! You’ve done enough damage already,” Thor growled, patience lost, sending Loki only a furious glance before returning to his work. How _quickly_ Thor’s affections wavered. Loki could have laughed.

 

Instead, he swayed where he stood, knowing he had the attention of Volstagg, at least, whose furious scowl suddenly morphed into an expression of concern as Loki staggered (the simpleton – he was almost as bad as Thor). Mentally bracing himself for the impact, Loki went limp all over. His body crumpled, and he forced his arms to remain as lax as though he had fallen unconscious, though his instincts screamed at him to catch himself. He hit the ground with a loud thud.

 

Thor was on him in a moment, his cry of “Loki!” ringing in his ears. He allowed his eyes to flutter open again a moment later, his expression one of carefully-manufactured confusion at finding himself on the ground. Thor was leaning over him, his expression twisted with worry. Loki blinked at his surroundings a few times, then made as though to sit up. Thor’s firm hand on his shoulder stopped him.

 

“Be still. What happened? Are you all right?”

 

The open distress in Thor’s voice did nothing to dampen Loki’s rage, and he pushed Thor away from him, moving unsteadily into a sitting position.

“I just fell,” he said, his voice the perfect combination of weakness and defiance. “I am quite well.”

 

“At least let me help you,” Thor said, reaching for him again.

 

“I don’t need your help!” he snapped, pushing himself to his feet.

 

This was too easy. He could see guilt in Thor’s face already, anger on Sif’s behalf forgotten. His poor little Loki had been calling for his help, and had collapsed when he refused him. Now darling Loki was determined to conceal his weakness from Thor, as though it shamed him. Loki wondered if Thor would ever grow a brain, or if his brother would still be so painfully gullible in centuries to come.

 

Loki took a few steps before swaying once more, his usual grace abandoned. This time, Thor was there to steady him. He caught him firmly but gently, gripping Loki’s waist and pulling him against him. Loki put up a token struggle before surrendering, allowing himself to lean against his brother, gripping one of Thor’s hands to steady himself when he fake-stumbled again.

 

“Thank you,” he said, keeping his voice faint. “I can take it from here. Return to your friends.”

 

“Loki,” Thor said, his voice low and gentle, imploring. There was no trace of his former rage.

 

“Sif requires your assistance,” Loki said, his tone cold and haughty, extricating himself from Thor’s grip. He drew himself up to his full height, throwing Thor an imperious look, before continuing on his way to the palace. He kept his steps carefully hesitant, determined yet wavering, the steps of one trying to conceal weakness. Once again, Thor caught him, holding him gently by the upper arm.

 

“Come, Loki, you are ill. Let me walk with you.”

 

“I don’t need your help.”

 

“I know, brother. But for my own peace of mind, please, let me walk with you.”

 

Loki gave him a searching look, before sighing and inclining his head slightly, turning his eyes from Thor’s face as though he was embarrassed. Thor turned back to his friends.

 

“I will see you later,” he said. “Forgive me, Sif, but Loki is unwell.”

 

Thor wrapped an arm securely around his waist once more, and they began to walk. Loki made his steps waver occasionally, but Thor’s grip was firm. He could practically feel the man’s heart softening even further as Loki leaned into his grip, using Thor’s body to steady himself.

 

They made their slow way through the corridors of the palace towards Loki’s chambers. He could feel the warmth of Thor’s hands at his waist even through the fabric of his tunic. He allowed one of his own hands to ghost over Thor’s in a gentle, hesitant caress, listening to Thor’s slight intake of breath. Thor pressed him closer.

 

Finally, they came to Loki’s door. Thor pushed it open, then nudged it to close gently behind them. Loki was leaning even more heavily on him now, and he helped him sit down on his bed. He lay back, allowing his eyes to close for a moment, a relieved sigh falling from his lips. He could feel Thor’s hands gently unlacing his boots, pulling them off one after the other. Loki’s eyes slowly fluttered open again, peering at Thor through long dark lashes, and he could see the moment where Thor’s breath caught in his throat.

 

“I will fetch a healer,” Thor said.

 

“No, there is no need. I just need rest, is all. I have not been sleeping much of late.”

 

“Or eating either, by the look of you.” Thor pressed a tender hand to his cheek, stroking softly.

 

“I will be well, Thor.” Loki smiled softly at him. Thor hesitated for a moment, then sighed.

 

“Very well. Though if you do not look better after some rest, you will be seeing a healer.” Thor helped manoeuvre him under the covers, pulling them up to his chin. His expression was so soft that Loki had to look away.

 

“I have not the strength in me to argue, my lord,” Loki said. Thor snorted, but smiled fondly.

 

“Rest, now.” A large, golden hand brushed the hair from Loki’s eyes and, though he hesitated for a moment, Thor leaned down and pressed a kiss to his brow. Loki’s lack of protest made his eyes practically glow with tenderness. Thor stood, picking up Loki’s boots and placing them by the door.

 

“Thor?” Loki called softly. He paused, his hand on the door handle. “Thank you.”

 

Thor smiled at him again, warm and open. If you had told Loki his headstrong, foolish brother could ever look that soft but months ago, he would have laughed. Thor had changed, after all. But, he reminded himself, it had not been for him.

 

“Sleep well, my dearest,” Thor murmured. The endearment sounded strange coming from his lips. He opened the door and with one last, longing glance at Loki, stepped out into the corridor and shut it softly behind him.

 

Loki waited until he could no longer hear Thor’s footsteps before he climbed out of bed. He brushed himself off, meticulously re-arranging his clothing and his hair, shooting a dark look at where Thor had stood moments ago. He was, in a way, very fortunate to have been married off to his brother. Thor was an oaf and a barbarian, but easy enough to manipulate.

 

Loki caught sight of himself in the mirror and paused, staring contemplatively at his reflection. What was it about him that so drew Thor? He was neither handsome nor beautiful, by anyone’s standards. His face was too thin, nose too large, eyes too piercing, and lips almost non-existent. Not that Loki hadn’t had his fair share of conquests (both his status as a prince and his silver tongue worked highly in his favour). His looks, however, had only deteriorated over time, his once milky skin now sallow and sickly, pulling far too tightly over the bones of his face. And Thor knew of the anger and bitterness in Loki’s heart, of the corruption that went right down to his core. Why did Thor persist? Perhaps he was not only stupid, but also afflicted by some grave mental disease.

 

Loki scowled, then turned away, settling himself into a chair and picking up one of the heavy tomes sitting on his desk. He could, at the very least, spend his afternoon more productively now that he had gotten rid of Thor. The thought cheered him considerably.

 

\- - -

 

A gentle knock on his door several hours later pulled Loki’s head out of his book. He heaved a sigh, noting his place, then shutting it quietly and stalking over to his small dressing room. He would need to change his clothes for dinner, if Thor believed he had slept in them.

 

“Loki?” came Thor’s soft call from outside the door.

 

“A moment,” Loki called back, kicking off his trousers and laying them over a chair, pulling on a new pair as he went. He pulled on a simple white undershirt and began to button it. “Come in,” he called.

 

Thor pushed open the door. Loki turned to face him, standing in the open doorway of his dressing room and fiddling with the last buttons of his shirt. Thor’s gaze swept over the exposed skin of his chest and neck and his eyes darkened, the air itself becoming heady. Loki pretended not to notice, hiding his sneer, buttoning the shirt to his neck and straightening. He nodded to Thor in welcome before he turned away, rummaging through his clothing for a leather jerkin.

 

Thor cleared his throat gruffly. “How are you feeling, brother?”

 

“Much better, thank you,” he said pleasantly. His tone was, perhaps, over-sweet, but Thor did not appear to notice.

 

Thor stepped further into the room, shutting the door behind him. By this time Loki was fully dressed, buckling the last buckle of his jerkin. He felt the man come up behind him, running his hands up his arms, pressing against his back in a tentative embrace. He pressed his face to Loki’s hair, inhaling, his beard tickling Loki’s neck. Loki turned in his arms, expression as docile as he could make it, resting his hands lightly on Thor’s shoulders. The oaf pulled him closer, bringing one large hand up to caress the bones of his cheek. He cupped Loki’s chin, his thumb stroking the corner of his mouth, eyes on his lips, and Loki pulled away.

 

“We must have words, my brother, about what happened today,” Thor said after a long pause in which he visibly pulled himself together. So he still had his touch after all, Loki thought with a smirk. Thor sounded firm rather than angry, but Loki was sure there was anger bubbling just beneath the surface.

 

“Must we?”

 

“It was a wicked thing you did, Loki. Sif needed twenty stitches.” Thor was frowning, though more in discomfort at the nature of the conversation than anything else. He preferred to deal with all of his disagreements in the ring.

 

“Do you mean to punish me, my lord, for my transgressions?”

 

“I would understand why you did what you did.”

 

“I should have thought that would be obvious.”

 

“You threw a sword at her turned back, Loki.” Thinking about it was quickly riling him up again, his chest starting to expand and his brow set in a scowl, but Loki could not resist pushing a little further.

 

“Then perhaps she would have been wise not to turn away. I would have expected a warrior of her skill to be able to dodge.”

 

Now Thor _was_ angry. He had drawn himself up to his full, imposing height, legs parted in a combative stance, righteous fury in his eyes. Loki could deal with that.

 

He sighed mournfully, walking over to the window and looking out, angling himself so that the light softened the sharpness of his features. “Will you come here, brother?” he asked.

 

Thor hesitated for a moment but slowly approached, watching Loki suspiciously. Loki said nothing, simply positioning himself in front of his brother and leaning back against his broad chest, giving a sigh of contentment. Thor’s arms went up, unbidden, to wrap around him from behind, and after another long moment he rested his face against Loki’s dark hair. Loki could feel the anger draining out of him once more as he stroked Thor’s hands where they were clasped at his waist, then gently rested his own hands on top of them.

 

For long moments, there was nothing but the gentle sound of their breathing as they watched the sun beginning to set. Thor’s arms were big and warm around Loki’s thin frame, his grip strong yet yielding. At another time, Loki would have hated the difference between their bodies, hated that Thor dwarfed him so easily, despite their being of a near-identical height. Once more, Thor’s mere presence diminished Loki into… no. There was no space for such thoughts now, not while he had to soothe Thor’s rage.

 

Loki had no intention of suffering any real consequences for his actions towards Sif, after all, and only Thor was in any position to punish him. The Allfather would not interfere now Loki _belonged_ to Thor, for doing so would challenge Thor’s ability to control Loki, and make the people of Asgard question their safety from the criminal prince. And if their mighty prince could not control Loki, how could he be fit to rule Asgard, when the time came? The people of Asgard were so simple-minded.

 

He was pulled from his thoughts when Thor made a pleased, rumbling noise in his chest. Loki’s chuckle upon feeling the vibration of it was genuine. Thor nuzzled his hair, twisting his hands so that he could play with Loki’s own, stroking the smooth skin and tracing the long, elegant lines of his fingers. Thor’s hands were roughly calloused, the result of many hours of weapons training, another reminder of his physical superiority. Loki’s hands had always been smooth and soft, masculine yet delicate, the hands of a sorcerer and trickster rather than those of a warrior. Loki did not like them. Thor, however, seemed perfectly content.

 

“Are you still angry with me?” Loki asked at length. Thor gave a frustrated groan.

 

“I should be.”

 

“But are you?”

 

“Not at the moment, no. I think you have bewitched me.”

 

Loki jerked away from him as though burnt. “You mock me?”

 

Thor looked startled. “Mock you? What do you mean?”

 

“My magic was taken from me, as you well know. Now you mock me for it?”

 

Thor was utterly bewildered. “Loki, you misunderstand.”

 

“I am going to dinner,” he said coldly.

 

He snatched up his overcoat as he stormed out, ignoring Thor’s confused, frustrated calls behind him. Loki’s lips quirked into an amused smirk, despite himself. Thor would no doubt be mulling over the conversation for hours to come, trying to work out where he had gone wrong. They would reconcile later, of course, for Loki had no real choice about that. But by then, Thor’s anger would have faded into nothingness in his confusion and disappointment, and their argument would be long forgotten.

 

\- - -

 

 

It had been some time since Loki had paid any attention to the goings on in Asgard, and longer still since he had been interested in his brother’s adventures. Little had changed. Little ever did. But he was tired of sitting around the palace like a caged bird, and, more importantly, offended that when trouble arose no one thought to call on his aid.

 

“Thor, it’s too dangerous,” he said, as he had done hundreds of times over the course of his long life. He would have felt nostalgic if Thor weren’t such an intolerable moron.

 

Thor had come before him to say goodbye, more irritatingly boisterous than Loki had seen him in some months. He looked almost like his old self again, bold and proud and insufferably arrogant. He seemed to have forgotten all his troubles, and had only smiled good-naturedly in response to Loki’s snarled insults. It was a pleasant change from the pathetic, wounded looks Loki usually received, but far from endearing.

 

“Nonsense, brother,” Thor laughed. “What is a bilgesnipe compared to Asgard’s finest warriors?”

 

“This bilgesnipe has already killed ten people, some of whom _were_ warriors, as you well know. Let me come with you.”

 

“No.”

 

“I thought you said it wasn’t dangerous?” Loki said oh-so-sweetly.

 

“Not for warriors, perhaps, but your magic is bound. It is too dangerous for you.”

 

“What, so I am to be some kept woman?” Loki snarled. “I too have trained in the art of weaponry! Do you think me so weak that I cannot lift a blade?”

 

“There is no shame in having other strengths, Loki,” Thor said, trying to placate him. He seemed to think he was giving Loki a compliment.

 

“Oh, so you do!”

 

“That’s not what I mea-”

 

“Get out.”

 

Thor looked pained. “Loki-”

 

“ _Out_.”

 

He still made no move to leave. “You misunderstand me. I merely meant that-”

 

“Fine! I’ll go!” Loki turned on his heel and stormed out of his own chambers, ignoring Thor’s calls behind him. He was, admittedly, being melodramatic, but the seething resentment in his chest could not be ignored.

 

He stalked through the corridors with his head held high, servants and guards alike wisely giving him a wide berth. Loki was very tempted to ride out despite Thor’s wishes, alone if necessary, and slay the wretched beast himself. The fact he knew he could not kill it alone without his magic was enough to prevent him from trying, but did nothing to soothe his temper.

 

His footsteps quietened as he reached the library, but his pace was still brisk. He gave a curt nod to the librarian, but one look at his face and the man went scurrying for cover. Loki’s lips curled into a sneer.

 

He darted down an aisle at random, weaving in and out through row after row of shelves until he found a secluded spot where he could sit and think. The familiar atmosphere of the library did little to calm him. He felt angry, vicious, wanted to make Thor _hurt_ but not sure how to go about it. Thor forgot Loki’s worth, forgot just how dangerous he could be. It was high time Loki reminded him. He was almost tempted to do himself an injury in his spite, just to see the look on Thor’s face when he found out, but Loki preferred to avoid pain.

 

When a familiar servant girl poked her face around the corner, startling and dropping the stack of books in her arms when she saw him, Loki did not scold her. He watched her, his gaze turning from furious to calculating in a heartbeat, wondering at his good fortune that she happened to wander by just as mischief was on his mind. It was an idea that had long been considered, but ultimately discarded due to the risks involved. Now, they were not important. He was going to make Thor hurt.

 

The girl used to watch him, sometimes, her gaze admiring, though the difference in their rank and her own reserve made her too shy to approach him. He stood as she frantically collected her books, babbling apologies, her cheeks a flaming red. She was comely enough. Her face was relatively plain, but her body was pleasantly plump and curvaceous, and Loki’s gaze was drawn to the generous swell of her breasts.

 

He bent to help her and she froze in shock, staring at him as a mouse might a larger predator. He brushed his fingers against the back of her hand as he handed her a book, watching as her breath came faster than ever, her blush deepening. She stood, stammering her thanks, her eyes darting nervously as she avoided his gaze.

 

When he reached out and plucked the stack of books from her arms, setting them down on a nearby table, she looked almost frightened and Loki wondered if he had misjudged her. But as he drew her closer, placing a gentle hand against her cheek and pressing sweet kisses to her lips, her found her willing and passionate. She kissed with the fervour of one who had longed for him, and Loki knew he had chosen well.

 

Loki grinned like a wolf when he lead her to his bed. What sweet vengeance it would be for Thor to be so thoroughly betrayed. He felt almost wild, despite the careful calculation in each kiss he pressed to her skin, intoxicated by the satisfaction of revenge. Thor would suffer for this marriage. His jealousy would tear him apart.

 

The girl left soon after they were done, her expression shifting from satiated to horrified when she realised exactly whose spouse she had just bedded. Loki let her go, not bothering to get her name, his smirk vicious and true. The thrill of what he had just done made him feel heady, _free_. It would not last, he knew, and there would be consequences. He could bear them happily, as long as he made Thor hurt. If Loki could not have his freedom, his captor would suffer with him.

 

A laugh burst out of him, high and wild, and he wondered for a moment if he was as mad as people thought. But with the wicked excitement of his betrayal still running through his veins, Loki could not bring himself to care.

 

\- - -

 

 

Loki leaned over his balcony, watching as Thor and his idiotic friends dismounted their horses, talking and laughing excitedly. Clearly they had had some success. Fandral’s arm was in a sling, but no one seemed badly injured. They shouted a merry greeting as Frigga descended from the palace to greet them. Even from his distance, Loki knew her smile was strained.

 

News of Loki’s dalliance with the servant girl had spread like wildfire. Apparently the girl had broken into hysterics in the kitchens, and the news had spread from there. Within a day he had been summoned to the throne room to be questioned by the king and queen. He had half expected to be thrown out of the palace immediately, as he made no attempt to deny the allegations. He had thrown them a too-wide grin, which seemed almost to… unsettle them. They had exchanged a long glance, communicating Loki knew not what, but had ultimately dismissed him without even a warning. It was very anti-climactic.

 

He watched Thor greet Frigga with a rough kiss on the cheek, his grin fading as he noticed the look on her face. She murmured something, and Thor looked up at Loki, a confused frown on his face. Loki made eye contact, his face carefully neutral. Thor was lead inside by Frigga, no doubt to be informed of Loki’s transgressions. Their reunion would not be a happy one.

 

Five minutes later, the sky began to darken. Loki smiled, watching lightning lancing across the sky, rolls of thunder growing so loud they seemed to shake the palace itself. The wind was beginning to howl, whipping his hair wildly about his head. He laughed, exhilarated, raising his face to the sky.

 

Loki tilted his head at the sound of thumping on his door, but made no move to answer. It was only just beginning to rain, but the wind was whipping so ferociously he could pretend not to have heard.

 

“Loki! Open this door!”

 

There was no pretending Loki had not heard Thor then. His voice crashed like thunder.

 

“Loki!” Lightning flashed across the sky.

 

“Thor!” Loki shouted back childishly, mockingly. Thor pounded on the door again, and Loki could see the wood was beginning to splinter. The rain was stinging his face now and Loki laughed, jumping up onto the railing to feel the storm’s full force. It was brutal as it lashed him, and Loki laughed again, revelling in Thor’s fury.

 

The door did not give way, to Loki’s disappointment. Thor must have called the guards to fetch the key, for he twisted the handle and came storming into Loki’s chambers. Loki turned to look at him, his smile wide, and Thor stopped dead.

 

“Loki, get down from there!”

 

Loki turned away again, shifting so he was balancing on one leg, wobbling precariously from the force of the wind. His blood was humming with his recklessness, with the long-forgotten feeling of _freedom_ , his heart pounding in excitement and fear, and Loki wanted to laugh and laugh and laugh.

 

He swayed dangerously at a violent clap of thunder. With a speed that belied his size Thor lunged for him, grabbing him in a grip firm enough to bruise and yanking him off the railing. Rain was pelting both of them as Thor dragged him inside, ignoring his protests. He whirled Loki around, grabbing him by the shoulders and shaking him.

 

“Why are you acting like this?” Thor shouted, breathing harshly through his gritted teeth. He spoke of more than Loki’s balancing act on the railing.

 

Loki threw him off, shaking his head so that drops of water would fly at Thor. Loki was drenched. And his exhilaration at the feel of the storm was quickly quenched by anger, laughter replaced all too easily with cruelty.

 

“How should I act, dearest brother? Do tell me, I so love being told what to do.”

 

“You are infuriating.” Thor’s voice was a menacing growl. The wind howled outside, lightning lancing with a deafening _crack_ across the sky.

 

“What is it that has you so upset?” Loki asked, his tone innocent but his eyes glittering with malice.

 

“You-” Thor’s voice cut out and he was unable to continue, rendered speechless in his rage.

 

Only once before had Loki seen him so, when they had been youths, and Loki had driven Thor’s sweetheart away from him. Thor had confronted him, Loki had laughed viciously and recounted all the wicked things he had said to the girl to upset her, and his brother’s face had gone white. His mouth had opened and closed, his breaths coming faster and faster, before he began to turn very red. Loki had watched in fascination, goading him, waiting for him to finally snap. Thor broke Loki’s jaw that day, and it was only their mother’s frantic entreaties that stayed his hand. Loki sometimes wondered just how badly Thor would have hurt him had their mother not been in the next room and come running as soon as she heard a crash.

 

Sometimes, Loki thought Thor would have killed him. But then he would remember the look on Thor’s face when he backed off, the confusion as he glanced down at his hand, the dawning horror as he saw the blood dripping down Loki’s face. He stood frozen while Loki was half-carried to the healing rooms, and after, once Loki had returned to his own chambers, he had asked Loki to forgive him. _I did not mean to hurt you. I lost control. Please forgive me, brother._ And Loki had believed him.

 

“It did not mean anything,” Loki said soothingly. Much as he loved to rile Thor, he hoped to escape from their encounter physically intact, so he knew he should at least try to calm him down. His words had the opposite effect. Thor _roared_ , picking up one of Loki’s wooden chairs and flinging it against the stone wall. It shattered, actually shattered, and Loki darted back as shards of wood sprayed in his general direction.

 

Thor looked at him with dark eyes, lips curled back into a snarl of fury. He abruptly jerked away from Loki, turning his back as he tried to restrain his temper.

 

“I did not mean for things to go so far. I never meant to upset you, dearest,” Loki tried. The hard line of Thor’s shoulders did not soften in the slightest at the endearment. Loki move forward tentatively and touched his arm. Thor jerked away as though he had branded him, jaw working furiously, but still speechless in his anger.

 

“Can we not speak about this?” he asked. Thor made a truly alarming noise in response but still would not look at him, as though just looking at Loki would be enough to finally tip him over the edge.

 

“What, does this surprise you?” Loki snarled, dropping his conciliatory attitude. He would not play nice if Thor would not. If the oaf expected him to beg, to diminish himself for the sake of Thor’s pride, he was more of a fool than Loki thought. “I _hate_ you. The very thought of your touch disgusts me, _brother_. I wish you had just killed me. Or better yet, I wish I had killed _you-_ ”

 

Thor grabbed Loki’s arm so hard it felt like he might wrench it out of its socket. He caught Loki by the shoulders, shaking him roughly, his eyes wild with rage. Loki froze in his grip, his eyes widening of their own volition. For a moment, and for the very first time in his life, Loki was genuinely scared of his brother. He stared at Thor, stunned, heart pounding in his chest and every muscle in his body rigid in Thor’s grasp. Thor released him.

 

“Loki… Loki, I-” He reached for him again. Startled, Loki flinched back. Thor looked devastated. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I lost my temper. I would never hurt you, Loki.”

 

Loki’s lips twisted into a caricature of a smile, and now it was Thor’s turn to flinch. “I’m sure the bruises on my skin will attest to that.” He whirled away from him, moving over to the window to watch the storm.

 

“Do not speak as though I am the only one who has done wrong,” Thor said lowly.

 

“Our kinds of wrong are two very different things brother.”

 

“You forget your place.”

 

Loki went very still. “I see,” he said quietly. “So we are not equals after all. You are my master, and I your slave.”

 

“That is not what I meant!” Thor looked murderous again.

 

“Then what did you mean? Truly, I can think of no other interpretation, though my mind is far sharper than yours. You think me below you. And I, your Royal Highness, have no choice but to submit.”

 

He turned and knelt, spreading his arms in a submissive gesture. “Beat me, dear husband, and be done with it.”

 

Every muscle in Thor’s body went still. He stared at Loki with guarded eyes, and Loki’s vicious smile contradicted his mild tone.

 

“Come on. Beat me. I will not resist. _Beat_ me. Here I kneel, wicked creature that I am, at your feet. I submit to your power. Here is Loki, defeated, on his knees at the feet of the mighty Prince Thor. Are you not happy, brother? Is this not what you wanted? Just beat me and be done with it.”

 

For a moment, Thor looked like he was considering it. His eyes were so cold, so filled with hate, Loki thought he really would strike him. He watched as his words sunk into Thor’s head, braced himself for Thor’s fury. But Thor just looked at him, and his expression slowly morphed into disgust, horror, then grief. His muscles loosened, his hand falling limply to his side. Loki’s surprise must have shown on his face, for finally Thor spoke.

 

“Did you really believe I would strike you, Loki?” Thor asked, his voice heavy.

 

“Yes,” Loki said matter-of-factly, raising his eyebrows at Thor’s sudden display of emotion. Thor closed his eyes, swallowed.

 

“Truly?”

 

“Yes. And for a moment, brother, you thought you would too.” He spoke simply, but still Thor’s face crumpled with grief and shame.

 

He closed his eyes, his mouth twisting into a pained grimace. When he opened them again, his anger had been replaced by cold misery. He turned away so Loki could not look him in the eyes.

 

“We will speak tomorrow, brother. I have no more words today.”

 

Loki climbed slowly to his feet, approaching Thor with confidence now his rage had passed. Just to be contradictory, Loki leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to Thor’s cheek. Thor looked at him again, betrayal and hurt and _longing_ in his gaze. He stared back silently, waiting to see what the oaf would do.

 

Thor lowered his head, and did nothing.

 

After he had left, Loki calmly began to tidy the things Thor had thrown during his temper tantrum. His chest felt oddly constricted, but he supposed that was the result of his still-dripping clothes. Though cold did not bother him, wet clothing would do him no good. He stripped, standing naked in his chambers for a moment, considering what he should do with them. In the end, he went back to the window to watch the storm.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks, once again, to my wonderful beta reader [Ingu](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Ingu).
> 
> This chapter contains references to Loki being able to bear children. The exact nature of this is unexplained, and there will be no actual mpreg in this fic, but please be aware that future mpreg is implied.
> 
> **TRIGGER WARNING for instance of domestic violence** \- please see end notes for full detail*.

Thor knocked on his door the next morning at their usual time, pushing it open after a moment’s pause. He carried no breakfast tray, and had clearly slept very little. The storm had raged well into the night, and even once the lightning stopped it had rained for hours. When the morning sun rose, everything glistened, beautiful despite the violence of the force that had made it so.

 

Loki sat in his favourite chair by the window, admiring the droplets of water that sparkled on the leaves just outside. He turned his head when his brother entered but did not rise, waiting to see what Thor would do, what punishment he would inflict and how swiftly it would come.

 

Thor was recently bathed and neatly dressed, but he was just as hurt, just as wretched, as he had been last night. The storm had passed, Thor’s initial fury having abated somewhat, a quieter agony now written on his face. Loki wanted to wring his heart out, twist the knife he had embedded in Thor’s chest, make Thor writhe in agony and regret for all the hurts he had inflicted on Loki over the years. But he stayed silent, waited, and watched.

 

To his surprise, Thor crossed the room and knelt before him, taking Loki’s hands in his. He said nothing, simply leaning forward and pressing his forehead against their joined hands, his breathing surprisingly even. The tension in his shoulders drained until he sat slumped at Loki’s feet, weak and vulnerable and _right there_. Loki could have destroyed him in that moment. Yet he waited.

 

“Why must it be you?” Thor asked wretchedly. “Why must I love you like this?”

 

Loki gave no answer, simply staring down at Thor’s golden head. The man eventually pulled back to look into his eyes, but what he saw made him look even sadder. He began to press kisses to Loki’s fingers and the backs of his hands. Loki should have pulled away, but he allowed the oaf some small consolation. He almost pitied him.

 

“I wish you were well again, Loki,” Thor murmured, so softly it seemed he was speaking only to himself. “I wish you could be as you were. I cannot stand this. Some days you love me, others you despise me, yet each and every day I love you.”

 

“How can you be so forgiving?” Loki asked abruptly. His brother’s devotion to him was quite inexplicable. Perhaps Thor was more brain-damaged than he’d originally thought.

 

Thor smiled sadly. It was a look Loki was still getting accustomed to. Before, Thor’s expressions had been so simple, so predictable. He had changed in recent years.

 

“Because I have to be. You are not in your right mind.”

 

“I am not mad, Thor,” he said coldly, yanking his hands away, his patience with the oaf all too easily lost.

 

“No, of course not,” Thor said. He was trying to placate him.

 

“I am _not mad_ , you idiotic creature. I simply cannot stand the sight of you.”

 

“You never could.” His tone was surprisingly mild. Loki looked at him suspiciously. 

 

His brother took him gently by the arm and he realised with a flash of anger that Thor was coddling him, _pandering_ to him, because he thought he was not of sound mind. Loki was _not_ mad. His mind was whole and hale, it _had_ to be, because it was the one thing Loki had ever prided himself on. If he did not have his mind, he had nothing. Yet Thor wanted to take that too.

 

He found himself being lead outside to conduct an unexpected walk around the gardens. He watched Thor closely, expecting his temper to bubble over, but he just walked. His ruined coronation seemed like centuries ago, so great was the change in him today. He looked tired and old, his shoulders straight but weighed down by his burdens. He looked, Loki thought, a lot like Odin.

 

“Did you catch the bilgesnipe?” he asked after several minutes of quiet.

 

“We did. It was a vicious creature, but I bested it in the end.”

 

“Like me.”

 

He sometimes wondered why he pushed Thor so hard, given how easily the man could have him killed. For a moment, he wondered if it was because he trusted Thor in spite of everything that had passed between them. That thought was quickly shoved to the side. He pushed because he _could_ , and that was all there was to it.

 

“I have never truly bested you, Loki. You are defeated by no one, as your recent actions prove.” Thor seemed to choke on the words, but still he said them, smiling with a humour that did not reach his eyes. “And you are no vicious creature.”

 

“Liar. You have called me so yourself, many times. Am I not cruel, brother?” Loki raised his eyebrows, his expression cold and unreadable.

 

“You are cruel,” Thor agreed. “Cold and cruel and venomous as a viper.”

 

Loki barked a laugh. Thor’s hand was tightening on his arm, his anger slowly resurfacing. It had only been a matter of time, after all. Thor had never been good at bottling his emotions, and turned to anger almost by default.

 

“Very poetic,” Loki said snidely, but without real venom.

 

Thor took several deep breaths, loosening his hold on him once more. Loki found himself quite surprised at his control. My, he _had_ changed.

 

“You should just let me go, Thor,” he said, keeping his tone mild. “Find some pretty wench to settle down and have children with. I will only hurt you.” He spoke as persuasively as he could, but still Thor shook his head.

 

“I would rather have you here and tormenting me than not have you at all.”

 

“I may well give you cause to regret saying that.”

 

“I doubt there is any greater pain you could inflict than what you already have, brother.”

 

Loki looked at him. “Well, you have certainly got a better hold on your temper. Are you not angry?” he asked, unable to resist goading him.

 

“Of course I am,” Thor said, his jaw clenching, but otherwise not rising to the bait.

 

“I would be murderous if I were in your position. Thinking about me in bed with that girl, her hands removing my clothing piece by piece…”

 

“Enough,” Thor growled.

 

“Her pressing kisses to my lips, my neck, my-”

 

“I said that’s enough!” Thor had grabbed Loki by the collar, his fingers pressing into Loki’s throat, his lips contorted into a snarl and his eyes wild. He could not stay calm for long, he never could, not when Loki needled him. All he had ever truly known was violence. Loki could usually diffuse his temper, through words or simply through looking as helpless as he could, but Loki did not _want_ to.

“She touched me and it was _good_ , brother, touched me as you _never_ wi-”

 

Smack.

 

His head snapped to the side, his cheek stinging, reeling from the blow. For a moment, there was silence. Thor’s eyes were slowly widening in horror at the enormity of what he had just done. He had not hit Loki hard, not really, but still he had hit him. He had promised never to hurt Loki. How quickly his promises fell apart.

 

Thor began to babble apologies, and Loki knew he should simply stand there and listen, let Thor’s words wash over him and torment him with his guilt. But Loki was tired of doing the same thing over and over. He felt like his blood was boiling in his veins, felt just as wild as when he bedded the servant. He was _angry_.

 

So without any further thought, Loki flung himself at Thor with a snarl of rage, going straight for the man’s throat. He remembered only snatches of what happened afterwards. He remembered clawing at Thor like an animal, scratching and biting and kicking, remembered Thor struggling to pin him to the ground, shouting for the guards, shouting for Loki to calm down, _Loki please, stop, listen_ , but Loki could not. He remembered the taste of blood as he savagely bit Thor’s arm while he struggled to hold him, remembered his howl of pain. Then there was the sound of armoured feet, armour-clad figures helping Thor wrestle him to the ground, a sharp pain in the back of his head, and Loki remembered no more.

 

\-----

 

He awoke in his own bed, surrounded by cushions, draped in enough blankets that he found himself uncomfortably warm. He kicked groggily to get them off, only to feel a pair of hands pull them back up again, clearly trying to be helpful. Loki grumbled, blearily opening his eyes.

 

He was met with the tired blue eyes of his brother, seated in a chair by his bedside. His expression was strained, wary, but he leaned forward to smooth back Loki’s hair. Loki sighed, still blinking sleepily, and Thor smiled fondly as he fussed with his blankets like an overly-muscular mother hen.

 

Loki opened his mouth to make a smart remark, but found his throat uncomfortably dry. Thor seemed to get the hint, helping prop him up and raising a glass of water to his lips. He took a few sips then pushed it away, feeling slightly dizzy from the pounding of his head. Thor offered him a plate of berries, but he refused them. The corners of Thor’s lips turned down.

 

“What happened? Loki asked. He already knew the gist of it, of course, but his memories were disjointed and difficult to understand. Thor grimaced, fiddling with a loose string on one of Loki’s blankets for a moment, then gathered the courage to look him in the eyes.

 

“You had some sort of fit,” he began, his voice picking up speed as he continued, looking increasingly distressed. “It was my fault. You should have seen a healer straight after the fight with Sif, and I should _never_ -”

 

“Enough of that,” Loki interrupted. “What did the healers say?”

 

“You are not… well. In your mind.” Thor took one look at Loki’s expression and hurried on, before he was interrupted again. “You have not been yourself for some time. The healers think your fall from-” Thor’s voice cracked, “-your fall from the Bifrost did more damage than they had anticipated. They thought that having you home and safe would cause you to mend, but you are only getting more unstable.”

 

“My mind is perfectly healthy, Thor,” Loki said in exasperation.

 

“I am sure to you it seems to be,” Thor said. He was trying to speak delicately, which naturally meant he sounded even more stupid than usual. “Your behaviour, brother, tells a different story. You attacked me.”

 

“You started it.”

 

Thor grimaced. “I know, but… it was different. I-”

 

“Oh, I see,” Loki interrupted. “So you hitting me is perfectly reasonable, but me hitting _you_ makes me a lunatic.”

 

“You _bit_ me.”

 

“You deserved it.”

 

“Perhaps, but your actions were so _unlike_ you, brother.”

 

“Well, if you say so. How can I _possibly_ argue otherwise when before me sits the sole expert on my character-”

 

“Loki!” Thor’s voice had taken on a stern note, so reminiscent of Odin that Loki shut his mouth. He opened it immediately in a fresh wave of anger, furious with himself for responding to his childhood conditioning as though he were still a boy, but Thor cut him off again.

 

“I do not wish to quarrel with you, brother,” Thor said. His jaw had taken on a stubborn set that told Loki he would not be dissuaded. Still, he was not so easily cowed.

 

“Thor, once and for all, _I am not mad!_ ” Loki’s voice had risen to a shout, making his head swim. He fell back against the pillows with a groan, his head pounding painfully.

 

Thor took his hand, running the calloused pad of his thumb over Loki’s knuckles, then raising it to his lips. He pressed a lingering kiss, his lips gentle despite the rough texture of both his beard and his own hand. Thor had always been a mess of contradictions. Great strength and brutish manners coupled with a surprisingly soft heart. For all his power and pride, he was not as strong as he would have others believe.

 

For long moments they sat in silence, each occupied with his own thoughts. Loki noticed Thor’s shoulders becoming increasingly tense the longer he allowed his hand to be held. The man was staring at it as though it were the cause of all his problems. He supposed it might be, given that Loki’s wedding band (which he wore under sufferance) was on that hand. Blue eyes trailed up to Loki’s narrow wrist, and Thor could be silent no more.

“How long have you been starving yourself?” he burst out. Loki was surprised enough to temporarily forget about their previous argument.

 

“I have not been-”

 

“You are showing ribs, brother. You eat very little at breakfast, but I just thought… Do you eat at all during the day?”

 

Loki considered. It was true that he ate very little, he supposed, but he was not starving himself. He ate whenever he was hungry. He said as much to Thor, who leaned forward to pin him with an urgent look.

 

“Loki, you must eat, even when you don’t feel you need to. You have made yourself very ill.”

 

“That is my concern,” Loki said stubbornly.

 

“The healers say not eating properly is likely one of the main causes of your erratic behaviour-”

 

“My behaviour is _not_ erratic-”

 

“ _It is_.”

 

“I do what I want, _when_ I want!”

 

“Loki!” Thor ran a frustrated hand through his messy blond hair.

 

“I am _not_ _mad_ , you halfwit!”

 

Thor did not respond. He took several deep breaths, slowly loosening his tense muscles. To Loki’s immense irritation, he chose to let the matter go. The oaf’s pig-headedness appeared, and disappeared, at the most frustrating of times.

 

“Rest now, brother,” Thor said in his most placating of tones, _dismissing_ him, so sure in the knowledge that _he_ was right and _Loki_ was the one being unreasonable.

 

“Get out.”

 

He merely looked confused, the eternal idiot that he was. “Loki-”

 

“Get out or I will throw you out!”

 

Thor did not. Perhaps he had convinced himself that Loki loved him after all, despite the overwhelming evidence to the contrary, and it was only Loki’s supposed madness that stood between them and marital bliss. At the very least, his belief in Loki’s madness stopped him from taking him seriously. Loki threw a sword at his friend’s turned back, slept with a servant, attacked him like a wild animal… well, if Thor was willing to indulge such behaviour, Loki was more than willing to be indulged. Still, it would not hurt to sweeten the man up again before he once more cut him down.

 

“Calm yourself, brother. All will be well.”

 

Loki gave a theatrical sigh at that, turning his head away and screwing his eyes shut.

 

“How can you even bear to look at me?” he asked in little more than a whisper. Thor never saw anything suspicious in Loki’s apparent mood swings, no matter how wildly he fluctuated. He was tempted to throw his arm up in a dramatic gesture of despair, but decided even Thor would see through _that_. Maybe. “How can you forgive me for… what I did?”

 

“I cannot forget,” Thor said quietly. “And you cannot be held entirely responsible for your actions, given your current mental state. Besides, I know you do not love me as I love you.” He sounded pained, which was surprising. Thor had never cared much for the feelings of others. “I have taken from you your choices, and barred you from any love but mine. Sometimes I think you love me, but… I know you resent me, Loki.”

 

_Very insightful_ , Loki thought sarcastically. He was tempted to mock, but decided to continue to play at being delicate. If Thor wanted a mad waif, he would have one. Besides, Loki knew Thor. His anger over Loki’s infidelity would undoubtedly manifest in some way, no matter what Thor said about forgiveness. Might as well enjoy himself while he was able.

 

“I do resent you,” Loki murmured, careful to keep his tone sad rather than angry. “And you may be able to forgive, but I cannot.” When he opened his eyes to look at Thor, his most serious expression carefully painted on his face, they were glistening with unshed tears. “I cannot forgive you for forcing this upon me, and I cannot forgive _myself_ for-” Loki broke off, turning his head away to hide his smirk.

 

“Loki,” Thor murmured.

 

“Will you hold me?” Loki asked, giving Thor his best teary-eyed pleading look and watching as Thor melted like butter. The lines of his face softened and his eyes, though still wary, lit up. It was rather pathetic, Loki thought. Thor all but leapt under the covers, looking happy to be close to Loki despite everything that had transpired between them. As if being close to Loki had ever ended well for him.

 

“You will feel better soon, dearest. The healers are preparing potions to help you quiet your mind. All will be well.”

 

Thor was relaxed against him, but as he slid his hand into Loki’s his fingers gripped just a bit too tightly, too possessively. Loki would eat him alive, given time, for the fool was far too willing to expose himself. He smiled slightly and squeezed back, the pressure of his nails on Thor’s skin meaning something else entirely.

 

**\- - -**

 

 

Thor watched Loki like a hawk for the next few weeks. They took breakfast together every morning as they usually did, but Thor paid close attention to what Loki ate, and ensured Loki was drinking the disgusting concoctions the healers kept sending him to cure his ‘madness’. Loki would snipe and snarl, but he drank them all despite the taste. It was, after all, to his advantage if Thor believed he was being cured.

 

Thor would also have a servant take Loki both lunch and dinner, if Loki did not collect it himself. It was always the same servant, Loki noticed with an amused smirk. An elderly woman with particularly large teeth and a perpetually bad mood who had neither the time nor the inclination to put up with Loki’s antics. There was an increase in guards about his person, obvious no matter how surreptitious they tried to be about the fact they were following him. Loki took great pleasure in giving them the slip, and watching Thor’s furrowed brows when next they saw each other.

 

“What are your plans for today?” Thor asked somewhat hesitantly as he sipped his tea. The delicate way he stuck his pinkie finger out when he did so made Loki snort with laughter.

 

“Oh, this and that. Why?”

 

“Well, I wondered if you might come to the market with me today.”

 

“With you and whom?”

 

“Just me.” At Loki’s raised eyebrow, Thor amended his statement. “We may see our friends there. Sif has forgiven you for injuring her. She understands the fragility of your mind.”

 

Loki’s fingers twitched dangerously, but he chose to let it go. “Will Fandral be there?” he asked, keeping his tone just a bit _too_ casual.

 

“I would imagine so,” Thor said, his voice taking on a hint of wariness. Loki hid a smirk. “Why?”

 

“No real reason. I just enjoy his company. I have missed his easy manner,” Loki said, shrugging and taking a bite of bread.

 

Thor made no response, but Loki could see the way his shoulders tensed, his hand tightening around his cup. The oaf just took a bite of a piece of bacon, chewing with unnecessary force.

 

An hour later they were making their way through the busy marketplace, dodging and weaving through the crowds. Thor gripped Loki’s arm so they would not get separated as a cart went trundling past, the crowd surging to get out of the way. The marketplace was a cacophony of noise, people talking and laughing excitedly, vendors shouting out their wares, horses and donkeys dragging carts filled with all manner of goods and braying and snorting in displeasure.

 

Thor’s attention was immediately drawn by a sweet stand, and Loki allowed himself to be dragged over so the fool could talk excitedly with the merchant. Thor was gesticulating wildly with one hand and gripped him firmly with the other, as though he feared Loki might run away. He thought he might have, too. Given the right opportunity he could have slipped away for the day, content in the knowledge that Thor would be getting increasingly distressed and waste the entire day searching for him. The oaf looked happy enough today, so Loki thought he could do it without provoking him into a proper tantrum. Still, given how volatile Thor had been, it was probably best if he saved that bit of mischief for another day.

 

Thor bought a large bag of hard-boiled sweets and dragged him off to sit by the fountain. They sat eating sweets and watching the bustle of the market go by, much as they had done when they were little boys. Loki popped a sweet into his mouth, grimacing slightly at its unexpectedly sour flavour, making Thor laugh at his expression. His laugh quickly turned to a cry of disgust when Loki took it from his mouth and petulantly threw it at him. It lodged itself in Thor’s hair, sticky with Loki’s saliva, and Thor’s revolted outrage was enough to make him throw back his head and laugh.

 

Thor laughed too, pulling the sweet from his hair with a playfully cross glare at Loki and throwing it to the ground. Then he was giving Loki one of _those_ looks again, his smile gentle, his eyes shining with puppy-like adoration and just a hint of sadness. Loki could guess Thor’s thoughts, and his own mood soured.

 

It soured even further when Sif and the Warriors Three came flouncing over, smiling at him with a hint of wariness but smiling nonetheless. Thor greeted them merrily, their appearance inexplicably prompting him to speak ten times louder, and Loki shot him a dirty look.

 

Loki avoided Sif’s gaze but made a point of smiling at Fandral. He looked momentarily taken aback, but then gave him a roguish wink and grinned, his teeth sparkling in the sun. Loki gestured for him to sit and without further thought he did so, throwing himself down between Thor and Loki and sticking his hand immediately into the bag of sweets, throwing one up into the air and catching it with his mouth. Loki laughed in apparent appreciation.

 

“You look remarkably well today, Loki,” Fandral said cheerily. He had clearly not forgotten Loki’s most recent exploits, but was willing to accept Thor’s explanation that he was mad and thus excuse him.

 

“You are your usual flamboyant self, I see,” Loki said dryly.  “I like your hat. What are those, peacock feathers?”

 

Fandral laughed, throwing a friendly arm about Loki’s shoulders. “You can mock all you like, Loki, but I have it on good authority that these feathers make me look particularly dashing.”

 

“The blind old lady who runs the fruit stall is hardly the best judge of taste.”

 

Fandral laughed again and Loki spared a glance at Thor. He was talking with the others, but his posture was tense. His eyes kept snapping to the arm Fandral had wrapped around Loki’s shoulders. He would shake himself and move his attention back to the conversation in front of him only for his eyes to snap back seemingly of their own volition.

 

“Your tongue is as sharp as ever, my friend,” Fandral said. _Friend._ Loki jerked his head back for a moment to look at him, giving him the same wide-eyed questioning look he so often gave to Thor. Fandral grinned at him easily and he smiled back, leaning into his touch again.

 

Fandral suddenly jerked as though electrified, clearing his throat and giving Loki a last pat on the shoulders before removing his arm. Loki did not need to look to know the expression on Thor’s face. He pretended not to notice the sudden tension between Fandral and Thor, reaching for another sweet and popping it into his mouth.

 

“Shall we go for a walk?” Volstagg said with forced cheer. Loki nodded, standing and smoothing down his clothes. He felt Thor grip him by the arm and glanced up. Thor’s jaw was clenched, but he forced a smile at Loki and made sure to position himself between him and Fandral as they began to walk. Loki hid a grin.

 

Fandral kept trying to catch Thor’s eye, but Thor looked straight ahead, his grip on his brother never loosening. Sif kept glancing surreptitiously at Thor, her eyes showing her concern. Hogun’s eyes showed nothing, but the slight tension in his shoulders betrayed his concern for Thor. His hand strayed periodically to the hilt of the dagger he kept hidden in his sleeve. Volstagg looked uncomfortable, and over-compensated by speaking too loudly about any drivel that came to mind, trying to diffuse some of the tension. Loki walked in the middle of them all and resolutely pretended not to notice.

 

“I think it is time Loki and I were off,” Thor said after only a few minutes. He was practically crackling with anger and jealousy, having clearly been mulling over what had happened between Loki and Fandral and getting himself more and more worked up.

 

“What? We have barely been here and hour,” Loki said, making his best show of looking genuinely puzzled. He managed to catch Fandral’s eye to exchange a confused glance just as Thor turned his head to look at him. Though Thor had never been the most observant of people he noticed the exchange, and Loki felt positively gleeful when his grip on him became almost bruising.

 

Thor said nothing further, whirling away with a dramatic swirl of his red cape and dragging Loki with him. Loki cast a helpless look back at Fandral which he knew the oaf would see from the corner of his eye, revelling in the way the sky was beginning to darken in Thor’s rage.

 

“Thor, what are you doing?” Loki gasped breathlessly, though only he knew it was from his silent laughter rather than surprise or fear. “Thor, stop! You’re hurting me.”

 

That gave Thor pause. His pace slowed and his grip on Loki loosened as he threw a guilty look back at his brother. Still, he would not stop, and Loki allowed himself to be dragged all the way back to the palace, still holding in his laughter. He had created a rift between Thor and one of his stupid friends. For the time being, at least. His possessiveness of Loki currently overruled his loyalty to his friends, though if left to his own devices his loyalties would no doubt return to them. Loki would be left in the shadows, subservient to Thor yet wholly forgotten, _powerless_ as he was unthinkingly betrayed. He would not let that happen.

 

“Thor, _stop_!” he called again.

 

They were making quite the spectacle. They had finally reached the palace, and the irate crown prince dragging his protesting brother behind him was enough to distract even the most dedicated of servants, if only out of nostalgia. Still, his oafish brother would not slow, and Loki allowed himself to be pulled onwards.

 

He was dragged all the way to Thor’s chambers, and his eyebrows rose when he realised his brother’s chosen destination. It was an interesting choice, to say the least, given all that had passed between them. Still, Thor was in a territorial mood, and no doubt dragging his spouse to his territory would satisfy the primal part of his mind that all-too-often seemed like the _only_ part.

 

Once they were safely inside Thor released him, and Loki rubbed at his wrist. His brother did not look at him, instead beginning to pace restlessly, looking more and more like a caged animal. Loki paid him little mind, waiting for him to calm enough to form coherent sentences.

 

He took the opportunity to look about Thor’s chambers. It came as a surprise to realise that he had not been in them since his fall from the Bifrost. He had refused Thor’s bed, and his brother’s training in etiquette had thus prompted him to keep his bedchambers to himself, as though Loki were a virginal maiden.

 

It was a large room, a little larger than Loki’s, and decked out in various shades of red and gold. His walls were covered with the heads of dead animals, his floor strewn with their skins, and he had racks of weapons and armour lined all around his chambers as though it were some sort of armoury. As though he ever used anything _other_ than his hammer and his regalia. His brother seemed to find some beauty in forged metal, but it had never appealed to Loki.

 

There were a few new paintings hung around the walls, which Loki had to admit were a pleasant change, but otherwise Thor’s chambers remained the same. There were one or two books strewn thoughtlessly about, trinkets and treasures from various adventures, a writing desk covered with scraps of paper (and even more scraps of paper on the floor around it – Thor was terribly disorganised).

 

On a little table at Thor’s bedside was a candle and, strangely enough, a slim dagger. Given that Thor was never more than an arm’s reach from his hammer this seemed unnecessary. It was with surprise, however, that Loki realised it was _his_. It was a little thing, old and well-used and largely forgotten, Loki’s favoured companion for many years before he had finally replaced it. It shone beautifully, despite its scratches and nicks, sharp and dangerous for all its weathered appearance. Thor kept it by his bedside. The sentimental fool.

 

He finally seemed to have calmed, slumping down into a chair and massaging his temples. Loki had never seen him perform that particular gesture, as the oaf had never been one for over-thinking. When he looked up, a shock ran through Loki’s body when he realised he could barely recognise him. Perhaps Loki’s dalliance with a servant had disturbed him even more than he let on, jealousy and anger being only the simplest of his feelings. Thor never dealt well with complexity. Perhaps Thor’s exile on Midgard had brought about this change. Perhaps it was Loki himself who was breaking Thor apart piece by piece, from his fall from the Bifrost to being Thor’s enemy to being Thor’s unwilling spouse. Perhaps, Loki thought, he had finally broken Thor’s spirit. The thought did not thrill him as Loki thought it might.

 

“Will you come here, brother?” Thor asked, voice hoarse but firm, extending his hand. Loki hesitated for a moment, which made Thor’s eyes sadden, but ultimately decided to approach. He pressed his own pale hand into his brother’s, and Thor just stared at it for a few moments. His wrist was still a little red from where Thor had gripped it.

 

“I am sorry if I hurt you,” he said lowly as his fingers rubbed over his reddened skin. Loki felt distinctly unsettled by the oaf’s mood. This was not the brash, arrogant Thor he was accustomed to.

 

“You did. It is hardly the first time, and will not be the last,” Loki said coldly, cruelly, watching as Thor’s eye flickered with guilt and sadness. He pulled his hand out of his brother’s grasp. The man’s golden head bowed.

 

“Sometimes I convince myself you care for me, but… You will never love me back, will you?”

 

Loki startled. Thor’s voice was raw with pain and resignation, low and soft in his grief. He looked wrecked. His hair hung limply about his face. Gone was the usual glow of his skin. Even the brightness of his eyes had dimmed, replaced by a cold misery Loki had never before seen on Thor’s face, all traces of hope flickering out. Loki should have been pleased to see proud, mighty Prince Thor, beloved by all of Asgard, brought so low. He _was_ pleased. He was. And yet…

 

His hand raised, unbidden, reaching out to brush Thor’s hair from his eyes. But he could not touch him, not like this. So Loki stood, almost paralysed, a hand stretched uselessly out in front of him, unable to move forward or to go back.

 

Thor was looking at him again, that softness once more in every line of his face. There was no demand in his eyes, only warmth and honest yearning. Thor was a fool. He should know Loki well enough to banish every soft feeling, but instead he just took the pain. Loki did not understand him.

 

“Brother,” Thor said quietly. Loki’s hand jerked away, then, and he hated himself for his own weakness and indecision. Loki was not soft. He would _never_ be soft, no matter how his fool of a brother looked at him.

 

Loki wanted to tear into him, rip his shallow, faithless, foolish heart into shreds. He could not form the words. Instead, he found himself saying, “Time. Give me time.”

 

Thor smiled sadly, but a glimmer of light had returned to him. “Then I will wait, for as long as you need me to. However long it takes.”

 

Somehow, Loki believed him.

 

\- - -

 

 

Their relationship was strange over the following weeks, to say the least. They seemed to have reached some unspoken, uneasy truce, and there was tension between them every time they spoke. Thor had taken to moping about the castle as though his sudden epiphany that Loki might _never_ love him had shattered his tiny world. Loki marvelled that it had taken so long for the thought to even cross his mind. His brother’s arrogance was truly admirable.

 

Still, Thor did not give up. Nor did his jealousy abate, no matter how hard he tried to school his temper. Loki had glimpsed Fandral once in the corridor and waved his hand in greeting. Fandral had paled at the sight of him, raised his hand awkwardly in response, then darted off before Loki could speak to him.

 

Loki saw little of Sif either, though that was an achievement rather than merely the by-product of one of his plans. Long had he known of her love for Thor, much as she tried to conceal it. Had she not been so like his brother, Loki may not have been able to read her tells. But he could read her clear as day, and her devotion to his brother was all-encompassing, making her a potential rival.

 

Thor had never shown anything more than camaraderie for her, but Loki would not bear the risk. He knew she was beautiful. And he had not forgotten her numerous slights against him. Thankfully, she was as easy to manipulate as Thor, and everything went delightfully according to plan.

 

“Loki, what _happened_?” came Thor’s cry from his doorway. He almost dropped the breakfast tray in his haste to reach his brother, dark fury quickly replacing surprise. “Who did this?”

 

“It doesn’t matter,” Loki said, speaking as clearly as he could with his head tilted back and blood dripping from his nose.

 

“Tell me,” Thor demanded, reaching out to help stem the flow of blood. Loki’s eye was already blackening. He could not have done it better himself.

 

“Just leave it,” Loki said through gritted teeth, throwing his brother a furious look and batting his hands away. Hands that were already beginning to shake with barely restrained anger.

 

“I will not,” Thor growled. “Tell me who did this, brother, and I will slay them for daring to lay a hand on you.”

 

Loki laughed bitterly at the very idea. As if Thor would ever harm one of his beloved friends, no matter _what_ they did to Loki.

 

“It was my own fault. Leave it,” he said, knowing it would pique Thor’s interest if nothing else. He was not known for taking responsibility for his actions, after all, or he would be a poor god of mischief indeed.

 

“Loki. _Tell me_.” He spoke in a tone that brooked no argument, violence lurking just beneath his skin. Loki gave a long-suffering sigh, shifting uncomfortably.

 

“I got up early this morning,” he began. “I thought I might watch you spar, perhaps even take a turn in the ring. But on my way to the training grounds I ran into the Lady Sif and we had a… disagreement.”

 

Thor recoiled. “Sif did this to you?”

 

“As I said, it was my fault. You of all people should know of the sharpness of my tongue,” he said, forcing a smile at Thor. His smile became genuine at the fury on Thor’s face.

 

After, Loki did not see Sif again up close. He saw her occasionally from a distance, could feel her hard stare on his back, but she did not approach. He knew not what Thor had said to her, but they had not spoken since.

 

Volstagg and Hogun remained on good terms with Thor, but the strain on their friendship was evident, and Thor had grown too possessive of Loki for them to be comfortable when he was present. Loki had planted the seed, but it was Thor who drove the wedge between him and his friends, leaving himself isolated. Leaving himself at Loki’s mercy. Loki marvelled at the simplicity of it. He was undoubtedly the catalyst, but it was through their own actions that others came unstuck. It was an entertaining spectacle.

 

Loki made a point of being kinder to Thor over the following weeks, partly out of strategic reasoning and partly because the oaf was so strained it took very little to push him over the edge. A snarky remark from Loki and Thor had sent several cups and saucers shattering to the ground. Loki had given him a frightened, wounded look and refused to speak to him until he all but grovelled for forgiveness. Then he had knelt on the floor with his head in Loki’s lap and shared some of his troubles.

 

Odin had been slowly increasing Thor’s duties now that Loki was recovering from his supposed madness, in preparation for Thor to take his place as king. A thrill went through Loki at the mention of it. It was not yet certain, Thor told him, and no date had been set, but it was Odin’s intention. Loki smoothed his hair down, noting how quickly tension drained from his brother’s body at his touch.

 

“Calm yourself,” he told him. “You will be a fine king, when the time comes.” If Thor’s eyes had not been closed, the cold gleam in Loki’s eyes would have sent a shiver down his spine.

 

\- - -

 

Rumours began to spread long before Thor’s coronation was announced. The whole kingdom seemed to be buzzing with them, and Thor was busier than ever. So, to his surprise, was Loki. Not that he was trusted with even the most minor of tasks – he spent a good portion of every day evading various members of court (sometimes even commoners) who had taken an overwhelming interest in his and Thor’s marital congress.

 

Loki had lost count of the number of times some well-meaning citizen had pulled him aside to give him a long talk about how best to maximise his fertility. Some had even gone so far as to research the Jotnar, presenting him with wildly inaccurate explanations of Jotun mating practices. It was all extremely irritating, and Loki was reminded over and over of his _duty_ to Thor. His brother was to be king, and rule over all of Asgard. And Loki? Loki was to be his brood mare.

 

“Oh, we’re trying,” he would say to them all. “It’s just that he cannot…” He would scrunch his brows then, looking sad and frustrated. “Well, we are doing our best.” Then Loki would walk away with a smirk on his face as the gossip mill went wild.

 

It came as no surprise to him when Thor paid him a visit one evening after dinner.

 

“Come in,” Loki said, not bothering to rise from his chair by the window. Still, he set his book down.

His brother pushed open the door, shutting it behind him with a soft click, pausing for a moment in an attempt to gather his thoughts. It was futile. Letting out a frustrated breath of air he began to pace with barely a murmured greeting, incapable of sitting still when his body thrummed with restless energy.

 

Loki leaned back into his chair, giving Thor a baleful look. He had not yet spoken of his troubles, but Loki had no doubt that he soon would. Words had never been the oaf’s strength, but they spewed prolifically from his mouth all the same. He rested his hand on his chin, watching Thor with something akin to amusement.

 

“Do you know what people are saying behind my back?” Thor finally ground out.

 

“Well, presumably. I do start most of the rumours around here, after all.”

 

Thor whirled around. “So it was you?”

 

“Could have been. To what are you referring?”

 

Thor ground his teeth. “All of Asgard longs for a child, an heir. _My_ heir. Yet I produce none.”

 

“That is fact, not rumour. Is that what has upset you so?”

 

Thor looked away, jaw clenching and unclenching reflexively. “They begin to question my… _virility_.”

 

Loki raised an eyebrow. “I would not worry overmuch. It is hardly a matter of any great importance.”

 

“ _Hardly important?_ ” Thor’s nostrils flared.

 

“Only your precious ego has been damaged, dear brother. And I, for one, would deem a reduction in that area a vast improvement.”

 

“You take delight in tormenting me,” Thor said lowly. He looked tired all of a sudden, the lines on his face more pronounced that Loki had ever seen them.

 

Loki merely smirked at him, shifting in his seat, watching in amusement as Thor’s eyes followed the motion. Blue eyes traced the movement of Loki’s parted legs, only to be pulled inexorably further up. He snorted, crossing his legs, and Thor had the good grace to look somewhat chastened.

 

“Our marriage is an unusual one, as you well know,” Loki said. “You will simply have to ignore the rumours. Or dispel them entirely.”

 

“Dispel them, how would I-” Thor stopped short, then abruptly approached and knelt at Loki’s feet, taking one of Loki’s pale hands in both of his. He looked on him with a new light in his eyes. “Loki, I… if we were to have a child-”

 

“Go and sow your wild oats some more,” Loki cut in. “Once you’ve bedded a pretty maiden or two, Asgard will have no doubts as to your virility.” The words tasted strangely bitter in his mouth.

 

Thor’s head bowed, and for a long moment he was silent, though he did not release Loki’s hand. “You are cruel,” he said, low and quiet.

 

Loki pulled his hand away and stood, walking over to the window. Thor stayed where he was, kneeling before Loki’s chair with his head bent. Loki swallowed.

 

“I am cruel,” Loki agreed. “But you are crueller.”

 

Thor’s head snapped up at that. “Me?” he said, low and disbelieving.

 

“You come here to force a child upon me, all for the sake of your damaged pride. Must you take from me my dignity as well as my freedom?” Thor opened his mouth to speak, but Loki would not let him. “You chain me here, bind me to you against my will, and now wish me to endure the pain and scorn of bearing you children, prince though I am. I may be a Jotun, but I am no _brood mare_ to be used whenever your masculine pride takes a blow. You are a cruel, selfish man, Thor. You always have been.”

 

“Yet again, you twist my words!” Thor was on his feet now, body trembling in anger. “Your freedom was taken for your own transgressions, and marriage to me the lightest of all possible sentences, if you insist on seeing it as a punishment. And now you call me cruel for desiring a true marriage? I do not want a child simply to soothe my pride, Loki.”

 

Thor made a frustrated noise when he reached out and Loki whirled away. “Why do you intentionally misunderstand me? Why do you torture me with my love for you? I must assume you derive some amusement from taunting me so.”

 

Loki, wicked words on the tip of his tongue, stopped short when he turned to face his brother. Thor looked so tormented that Loki’s stomach twinged. He cursed himself for his weakness.

 

“Every time I think we are getting somewhere, you act like this! Why must you keep running away?” Thor ranted.

 

“I run from nothing.”

 

“Why are you so afraid of letting me near?”

 

“You told me you would wait!” Loki deflected. Thor was right, in a way. He would not let him near, though it was not fear that drove him.

 

“And I will keep that promise! But you torment me enough without being _intentionally_ cruel.”

 

“I _torment_ you? Then I have to wonder why you bother with me at all.”

 

“Don’t change the subject, just answer me.”

 

“You didn’t ask me a question, so how can I?”

 

“You are acting like a child,” Thor growled.

 

“And I suppose _your_ behaviour is very mature,” Loki snapped, knowing full well that it only illustrated his brother’s point.

 

“Stop being sarcastic and hold a proper conversation!”

 

“You’ve never held a _proper_ conversation over the whole course of your life!”

 

Thor opened his mouth to speak, made a frustrated noise, and closed it with a snap. He sighed, shutting his eyes and taking several deep breaths, and Loki could see the tension draining from him. The man was infuriating. All those years Loki had sought his approval his temper had been immutable. Now Loki actually _wanted_ to fight, Thor had learnt how to restrain himself.

 

“This is getting us nowhere,” Thor muttered. He ran a hand through his loose hair, and when he finally looked at Loki again he was calm. Loki, however, was quite the opposite.

 

“Look at you,” he snarled. “A tame dog in Odin’s hand. What happened to the might of Thor? Cowering in the face of his own spouse.”

 

Thor just shook his head, smiling somewhat ruefully. “I will not be riled, brother. Enough. Sit down.” He spoke with such certainty that he would be obeyed. Loki’s lip curled.

 

“No!” he shouted. He was breathing heavily through his teeth, positively aching for a fight, and _Thor would not oblige_. His anger, bottled up for so long, could be contained no longer. “I am not yours to command. Shall we take this to the ring, brother?”

 

“There will be no more fighting. Sit _down_ , brother.”

 

“Don’t tell me what to do! You haven’t changed a bit, have you? Still the same, arrogant _boy_ playing at being a man, pretending to be more than a worthless, selfish-”

 

“Enough!” Thor growled, eyes flashing dangerously. “ _Sit down_.”

 

“ _Don’t tell me what to do_!” The unbridled rage in Loki’s voice was a surprise even to him. But how could he not be angry? His life, his freedom, his happiness - he had been stripped of it all.

 

His brother looked deeply alarmed. “Loki, calm yourself.”

 

A laugh burst forth from Loki’s lips, harsh and bitter. “If only you had courage, Thor,” he snarled. “If only you had the courage to face what you have wrought. Instead you chain me here, tether me like a beast. Perhaps you’d like to see just how monstrous your pet can be!”

 

All it took was a jerk of his hand and Thor was upon him, grabbing him and holding him fast. The oaf looked more disturbed than Loki had ever seen him, and from the way his eyes flicked to a dagger displayed only a few feet from where Loki stood, he could easily guess Thor’s concerns. Loki should have relented, should have forced down his anger and simpered at his oh-so-beloved husband. But he would not.

 

He shoved at Thor roughly, and when he could not break his hold on his arms he began to twist and jerk. Thor held him despite the violence of his struggles, trapping Loki’s arms against his chest and keeping him from punching or clawing at him, the enormous muscles in his arms bulging but not giving out. Not for the first time, Loki despised him for his effortless strength.

 

“ _Damn_ you,” Loki snarled. “Damn your worthless eyes, let me _go_.”

 

“Loki, _calm down_ ,” Thor grunted as Loki’s knee connected with his stomach, winding him. Still, he would not release him.

 

With a noise of frustration he pinned Loki up against a wall, holding him more easily now there was a solid surface at his back. It was useless. No matter how frantically he struggled, he could not break Thor’s grip, and no amount of taunting would prompt Thor to release him. Eventually he sagged, still furious but too exhausted to fight any more.

 

“There now,” Thor murmured. They were words Frigga had murmured so many times over the years, strange coming from Thor’s mouth but familiar nonetheless.

 

“I hate you,” Loki said.

 

“Calm yourself,” Thor murmured, releasing his grip on his wrists. He pressed against Loki, wrapping his arms around him in an embrace just as solid as his hold had been. Loki was caged, and there was no way out. His eyes stung with the shame and frustration of it all.

 

“I _hate_ you,” he said again.

 

“I know, love,” Thor said simply, holding him as though he might vanish. Loki could only dream of such a thing.

 

By the time Thor saw fit to release him and sit him down in a chair, Loki had recovered his wits and was positively glowering. He had allowed his emotions to govern his head. He was caged, true enough, but it was only through his captor that he could be free again. He needed his magic. Thor was the only one who would ever give it back to him, and Loki’s little outburst would hardly persuade the oaf that he was ready for his powers again.

 

The man was currently puttering around like a matron, tidying bits and pieces around Loki’s chambers. He was not a fastidious man by nature, but he needed something to do with his hands as much as he wanted an excuse to hover. Loki said nothing, but deigned to take a sip of water when Thor offered it.

 

“Do you feel better now, brother?” Thor asked. Loki just looked at him, his eyes blank, and Thor knelt down before him.

 

“Forgive me?” he said. He did not offer any particular reason for his apology, but after a moment’s consideration Loki nodded. If Thor did not specify for what he sought forgiveness, Loki would not specify just what he had forgiven.

 

“You need sleep.”

 

“Ymir’s teeth, stop fussing, you halfwit. It doesn’t suit you,” Loki croaked, hoarse and irritated but lacking in true venom. Thor smiled, visibly relaxing at Loki’s familiar tone. When he made to stand up again, Loki grabbed his wrist to prevent him.

 

“I don’t hate you,” he said quietly. The words felt strange on his tongue.

 

Thor smiled again, and there was relief in his gaze. He stood when Loki’s grip slackened, pressing a tender kiss to Loki’s forehead.

 

“May I stay with you tonight?” he asked, still watching Loki with concern. Loki shook his head.

 

“I am well now. Thank you.”

 

Thor looked disappointed but nodded obligingly. He was silent for a moment, then his expression changed and he let out a snort. “You know, every time I speak with you, we have a different discussion than the one I intended.”

 

“Well, conversation has never been your strong point.”

 

Thor snorted again, bending to kiss Loki goodnight. Loki allowed him to press a quick peck to his cheek before waving him away, leaving him to stew in his chambers, unsure if he was angrier with Thor or himself. It was several hours before he went to bed, and he got very little sleep that night.

 

A week later, Odin announced that Thor was to be crowned in three months’ time. The news, as expected as it was, brought a smile to Loki’s lips.

 

\- - - -

 

Loki saw less of Thor during the following weeks (though still far too much by his own reckoning). The man spent most of his time dashing about to meet his father’s requests, attending various meetings and seeing to tasks that Odin himself did not have time to oversee. He was familiarising himself with all the ins and outs of kingship, dedicating more time than was truly necessary to the task, his face set in determination. Last time, he had considered such tasks trivial, and avoided them as much as he could, complaining endlessly about them when he could not. He did not complain about _them_ this time. Though to Loki’s annoyance, he still complained.

 

Thor’s newfound dedication reduced the time he could spend pestering Loki, and had the unfortunate side effect of making him whinge about it. He kept telling Loki how much he missed him, and would all too often sacrifice sleep so that he could sit in his brother’s irritated presence. Loki had to wonder what the oaf got out of it. He had barely the energy for conversation by the end of the day, yet still he would come to Loki’s rooms rather than go to bed, and simply sit. It was one of the rare times Loki had seen him idle, though he seemed content enough. The lines on his face from a day of hard work and endless frustration would ease as he watched Loki. Sometimes Loki allowed him to sit close enough that their legs would touch, and Thor would thrum with happiness. He was a strange creature indeed.

 

It was on one such evening that Loki noticed Thor could not relax. He paced, throwing Loki surreptitious glances that naturally ended up acting as fanfare. When Loki himself stood, placing a hand on Thor’s shoulder to stop his restless motion, Thor did not calm. Even as Thor wrapped his arms around him and tugged him close, there was tension in him. He held Loki too tightly, almost… fearfully, and there was little doubt in Loki’s mind that he was the cause of Thor’s distress.

 

Loki pulled back a little so he could see Thor’s face, pressing his hand to Thor’s cheek. Thor breathed a shuddering breath, leaning into his touch, but _still_ he did not relax. Usually just touching Loki’s hands was enough to turn the man into putty, tactile creature he was, let alone a willing caress.

 

“Thor?”

 

Thor closed his eyes, swallowing painfully, but the expression on his face was determined. Even before he opened his mouth, Loki could tell how the oaf dreaded the conversation he was about to start.

“Have you any… plans for my coronation, brother?” he asked quietly. He looked pained to say it, to admit that he did not trust Loki as completely as he claimed to.

 

“Of course you doubt me,” Loki said after a pause, pulling out of Thor’s arms with his best mournful expression painted on his face. “I was a fool to think otherwise.” He was careful to speak softly enough to look like he was talking to himself, but loud enough that his oaf of a brother would still hear.

 

“I do trust you, brother,” Thor said, despite the overwhelming evidence that he did not, and more importantly _should_ not. “Just not with this. Not with power. Not with the throne.”

 

Loki gave him an affronted look before making his face crumple in apparent shame. He had to turn his back to Thor, knowing he could not maintain the expression without his eyes giving away his amusement. So _this_ was what troubled Thor. The risk of yet another betrayal. Well, the oaf would not be disappointed.

 

“I have never been worthy, brother. Not like you.” His chest felt strangely heavy as he spoke, and he had to shake himself back into the moment. He could not afford to be distracted by his own lies.

 

“You have always been _worthy_ , Loki, but the king’s throne is wrong for you. It is not a question of worth. You are more precious than anything in all the nine realms.” Thor placed a hand on his shoulder, speaking nonsense with such sincerity that Loki wrestled with the desire to punch him.

 

“What will happen to me when you are king?” Loki asked instead.

 

“You will be my spouse and consort, to begin with. As your recovery continues, you will eventually come to rule beside me, as our mother rules beside our father.”

 

“And what use will I be?” Loki threw off Thor’s hand, wheeling around to face him. He looked distraught, his features twisted into a grimace, tears welling in his eyes. He was rather proud of himself. It had taken many hours in front of the mirror to perfect _that_ expression.

 

“What am I, Thor? I have no friends, no influence, no power. What use will a- a mad _Jotun_ foundling be? I can barely even lift a sword!” Loki was very pleased with himself when tears began to trickle down his face, and even more pleased as his brother’s oafish features twisted in distress.

 

Thor reached out, gathering Loki in his arms as though he were a child. Again, he held him a little too firmly, and Loki was not sure whether his arms were a shield or a shackle.

 

“I wish such falsehoods would not leave your lips. Yet I cannot scold you for lying, for I know you believe them.” He clutched Loki tighter, making him grimace as he felt his ribs creaking. “You are Loki Silver-tongue, a greater diplomat than I will ever be. And when your magic is returned to you, you will be whole once more.”

 

Loki hid his blossoming grin against Thor’s shoulder. _Finally_. “My magic?” he said, sniffling like a child, knowing it would soften Thor even further.

 

“Your magic, my love,” Thor affirmed. He spoke with something akin to nobility, a calm self-assurance, something he had not possessed when last his coronation was around the corner. He spoke as though Loki was already forgiven, so certain was he in his belief that he could _fix_ him. So sure that through his love, Loki could be healed, and his sins absolved. Loki wanted to hit him again.

 

“How can you trust me with magic again? How can I trust myself?” Loki asked, as though he was not already itching to feel his power once more, hungering for the feel of his magic as it coursed through him.

 

“I will always be here to guide you.” Ah, so Thor was patronising him. Well, on this occasion, Loki would play along. Thor would pay for it later.

 

“Do you promise?” Loki asked, soft and needy and so utterly false.

“I _promise_ ,” Thor murmured, roughly, reverent somehow, a well of emotion behind such a simple phrase. Loki found himself surprised.

 

Schooling his face, he raised his head to meet Thor’s eyes. They were as brilliantly blue as ever, so full of feeling that Loki almost felt guilty for what he was about to do. Almost. If Thor was fool enough to believe him, any hurt or harm that came to him was his own fault.

 

Without another word Loki kissed him, full on the mouth, his hands tangling themselves in Thor’s hair. He fought back a grimace at the feel of Thor’s beard on his cheeks, Thor’s chapped lips soft and warm against his own. It was not truly unpleasant, but it was hardly electrifying. His brother seemed to think differently.

 

The oaf gasped, gripping Loki tighter, one arm around his waist and the other reaching up to cup his face. For long moments they were wrapped up in each other, Thor’s lips against his own, passionate but gentle, tentative but somehow… sure. Thor was so certain that they belonged there, that they belonged _together_.

 

He pulled away for a breath of air, but moments later Thor was upon him again, urgent, his hands holding tightly for fear of Loki slipping away from him once more. Loki did not. He felt warm, warmer than he had in years, warm to the core. It was only Thor’s body heat, of course, the man was like a furnace. That was all.

 

Finally they parted, and Loki did not school his features when Thor smiled at him, all stunned delight and tenderness, glowing as golden as the sun. He was not sure quite what was written on his face, and cursed himself for his lapse of attention, but it made his brother’s smile widen even further.

Later, when Loki was back in his own chambers, he paced restlessly. Thor had given ground today, his trust in Loki increasing, bringing Loki that bit closer to getting his magic back. Still, he could not be truly satisfied. He could not escape the feeling that he had given ground as well, and it was not an idea that pleased him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Thor strikes Loki across the face, and Loki attacks Thor.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks, once again, to my beloved [Ingu](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Ingu), not only for beta reading this, but for being so endlessly supportive.
> 
> Please note that I have increased the number of chapters from 3 to 4, as I underestimated how long it would take me to wrap this up. Sorry about that.
> 
> Also, for those of you who've been trying to message me, please feel free to talk to me on my [tumblr](http://ladylapislazuli.tumblr.com/).

When Thor entered Loki’s chambers the next morning, his brows were drawn. He tentatively kissed Loki on the cheek, smiling when his advance was not rebutted, but his brows remained furrowed and he chewed his eggs in thoughtful silence. Loki sipped his tea and watched him with raised eyebrows, waiting for Thor to start ranting. He did not.

 

He took an absent-minded swig of orange juice, gazing out of the window. His beard was longer than usual, his hair pulled back into one thick braid as it often was when he slept. He was paying Loki no mind whatsoever, and Loki was irked. He _should_ be paying attention, given that he and Loki had shared their first proper kiss only the day before.

 

Perhaps Loki had miscalculated. He had been certain that a kiss would bring him greater influence over Thor, but it may have had the opposite effect. Thor was not known for his attention span, particularly with romantic conquests. Perhaps he had tired of Loki after all.

 

“Thor?” Loki said, voice carefully neutral.

 

“Mm?” Thor said, shovelling a piece of ham into his mouth and chewing slowly. He still did not look at Loki.

 

“Is something the matter?”

 

“Nothing you need trouble yourself with,” came Thor’s self-assured, _arrogant_ reply, as though Loki were a _child_ who needed looking after.

 

The oaf was silent again after that, sipping his juice, ignoring his supposedly beloved spouse. Well, Loki would have to test his footing. He did not appreciate being ignored, especially not at a time so crucial to his plans.

 

He threw down his napkin and stood, stalking over to the window and folding his arms.

 

“You haven’t finished your breakfast,” Thor said around a mouthful of bread, brushing crumbs off his beard with the back of his hand. He turned to look at Loki. “What’s the matter?”

 

“Oh, nothing,” Loki said airily. “I cannot help but feel I’m not required this morning.”

 

Thor chewed and swallowed, wiping his face with his napkin and standing up, eyeing Loki in confusion.

 

“Does your ardour fade so quickly, my prince?” Loki continued, and the venom in his voice was not feigned. He was beginning to doubt himself, and that made him genuinely angry. Could he have miscalculated so badly? He knew Thor’s heart was inconstant, but surely it could not have changed so quickly. His mind began to whirr with contingency plans as he awaited Thor’s response.

 

The man spluttered a bit, and his confusion was genuine. Loki calmed a little, but still he needed to know Thor’s thoughts.

 

“You have barely spoken two words to me all morning.” His voice came out rather more petulantly than he would have wished, but it could not be helped.

 

“Loki,” Thor said, his voice rumbling deep in his chest. He stood, taking Loki by the arm and turning him so he could see his face. “Forgive me, brother. I am troubled by matters of state. I have not tired of you.”

 

Thor tried to tug Loki into his arms, but he resisted. “What matters of state?”

 

“You need not concern yourself with-”

 

“Thor,” Loki growled, the warning clear in his tone. Thor eyed him for a moment, weighing up his options, before shaking his head.

 

“My burdens are my own.”

 

Loki wheeled away, folding his arms and once more turning his back.

 

“And yet I must bear them too in the face of your neglect.” Thor made to speak, but Loki continued. “Am I not your spouse? Your equal? It is my sacred duty to help you bear your burdens. Do you believe me unfit?”

 

“You are unwell,” Thor said, stubborn as ever.

 

“And being ignored is doing wonders for my health.” Loki studiously ignored the fact that he was only encouraging Thor to hang about more than he already did, even though Loki grew more and more frustrated with the man’s attentions every passing day. He needed information, and with enough needling Thor would relent.

 

“I did not mean to ignore you,” Thor said, attempting a diplomatic approach.

 

“After yesterday, I…” Loki trailed off, throwing Thor a vulnerable, wounded look. It was not an expression that came naturally to him, but with practice he had mastered it. Predictably his oafish brother softened immediately.

 

Thor approached, turning Loki gently and wrapping his arms around him. “My dearest,” he murmured, face pressed to Loki’s hair, and Loki rolled his eyes at the endearment. Thor was in a sappy mood. Wonderful. “Yesterday meant a great deal to me. To finally hold you as my husband…” He seemed unable to complete the sentence (mercifully – poetry had never been his strong suit). He pressed a reverent kiss to Loki’s head instead, gripping him tighter.

 

“Forgive me. I should not have doubted you,” Loki said. He raised his hand, running his long fingers over Thor’s golden, braided hair. It was softer than it looked, even tied up.

 

“No, the fault is mine,” Thor said, pulling back so he could look at Loki’s face. He trailed one large hand down Loki’s cheek and jaw, eyes shining with admiration. It was uncomfortable to look upon.

 

“May I kiss you?” he said, gaze on Loki’s lips, desire clear in his eyes. It was a genuine question. For all of Thor’s arrogance and entitlement, he did not dare presume to touch Loki without consent. Had Loki refused, he would have backed down. It was one of the very few aspects of his brother Loki had come to appreciate.

 

“Please.”

 

Thor leaned in, practically moulding himself against Loki the moment their lips touched. His hand held Loki’s jaw in a gentle grip, the other pressed to the small of his back. It was a chaste kiss, but a heartfelt one, and it made Loki feel a little… odd. He shook the thought off.

 

“What matters of state?” he asked again as he broke the kiss. Thor huffed and tried to kiss him instead of replying, but he turned his cheek.

 

“Loki,” Thor said with a groan of frustration. He softened as he smoothed Loki’s hair back, his eyes betraying his adoration. Well, his heart had not strayed yet. He was as easily influenced as ever.

 

“If you believe me to be your equal, prove it to me,” Loki said. He was careful to inject just a hint of uncertainty into his tone, so Thor would feel compelled to reassure him.

 

“I do not wish to trouble you, beloved. It is a small matter.”

 

“Then why conceal it?” Loki pulled out of Thor’s arms, and the way his brother shifted showed that his loss was mourned. The oaf felt a bizarre compulsion to touch Loki as often as possible, as though it pained him to be apart. Strange creature.

 

Thor gave a heavy sigh, and Loki knew he had won.

 

“There have been some… troubling reports from the Eastern border. Villagers have been claiming to see beings moving about at night for a few weeks now, but this morning I received a report from one of the guard captains.”

 

“Yes?” Loki prompted when Thor had been silent for too long.

 

“Jotnar,” Thor said. Loki froze involuntarily.

 

“What?”

 

“The captain writes that one of his own guards heard strange noises as he lay awake in his bed, and when he rose to investigate he caught a glimpse of a figure slipping in and out of darkness. He is convinced the creature’s skin was blue.”

 

“What, that’s it?” Loki asked incredulously, when Thor did not continue. His muscles loosened again, something akin to relief in his chest, though he could not say why. He pushed it aside.

 

“Is that not enough?”

 

“That is hardly any evidence that a group of Jotnar, or even a single Jotun, have somehow snuck into Asgard.”

 

Thor looked strangely relieved. “I thought so too. That settles it.”

 

“Settles what?”

 

“I will not journey out after all.”

 

Loki paused. A journey to the Eastern border would take Thor a week at the absolute minimum. Even a week’s reprieve, though, would be welcome.

 

“Besides,” Thor continued, “Even if there is a Jotun out there, who’s to say he’s hostile? The Jotnar are a good, worthy people who command our respect.” Loki’s eyebrow twitched at the tone of Thor’s voice. He spoke clumsily but with the clear intention of assuaging any ill-feeling he may have roused in Loki.

 

He wanted to roll his eyes, but instead Loki said, “Thor, you must go anyway. Surely you see that.”

 

Thor looked taken aback for a moment, then he bristled. He set his jaw stubbornly.

 

“No, I do not see that. There is no need for me to leave.”

 

“In six weeks’ time you will be king, brother. Now is the perfect time to establish your care for the people. If there are Jotnar, you will once again prove your worthiness, either as diplomat or as a warrior. If there are not, the people will still appreciate the seriousness with which you take their safety.”

 

“Am I to be sent out every time some old housewife gets a fright?” Thor growled.

 

“The people must come first, Thor. You know that.”

 

“Why your sudden interest in the affairs of simple villagers?” Thor snapped. He paused then, mind catching up with his mouth, but Loki did not allow him time to speak.

 

“I am not completely heartless,” he said, his tone stiff and carefully laced with just a hint of hurt. “At a time like this, your people need reassurance that they will be safe under your rule. You owe them that. _I_ owe them that.” Loki cast his eyes away to hide their calculating glimmer.

 

Thor stepped forward, taking Loki’s hands in his and pressing them to his lips.  “Brother…”

 

“I would feel better about… about before,” Loki said, still averting his gaze, knowing his eyes would betray him.

 

“Loki, I have long forgiven you,” Thor said, drawing Loki closer. “I will not leave you now, not when you have been so ill. Not after you…” Thor cut himself off with a grimace, but Loki had no doubt he was thinking of Loki and the servant girl. “Our friends are brave and noble warriors. I will send them in my place, though I have no doubt a few guards would do equally well.”

 

Loki pulled away. “ _Please_ , Thor.”

 

Thor frowned slightly. “Why is this so important to you, brother?”

 

_Because I am about to gouge my own eyes out from sheer irritation, you over-bearing half-wit._

 

“Because it is _necessary_ , Thor. It is the right thing to do, and so must be done. I am trying to be a better man,” Loki said, feigning distress, when Thor opened his mouth with an obstinate expression on his face. “Why must you hinder my efforts to right my wrongs?”

 

“I do not intend to be a hindrance, but I _am_ your husband, Loki,” Thor said stubbornly. “It is your health that concerns me now. Caring for you is my life’s greatest purpose.”

 

For a moment, Loki’s vision went red.

 

He shoved it down, eyes flashing to check if Thor had seen his slip, even as he fought the urge to strike the man across his arrogant, patronising face. Thor looked exasperated, as though Loki were being _unreasonable_ , but he did not appear to have noticed anything amiss. Loki forced his anger below the surface, down and down until his mind was clear again. When he spoke, his voice was steady, persuasive, if a little exasperated. Either way, it was enough.

 

“Your _first_ duty must be to your people, Thor, as you well know. I concede their claims are unlikely, but in these turbulent times you cannot afford to take any chances.”

 

Thor shook his head. “No, my mind is made up. You have been ill, and it is my duty to care for you. Our friends will find out the truth. Your need is greater than the half-baked notions of some mead-sodden villagers.”

 

“I do not _need_ a nursemaid!” Loki snapped. Thor fell back, the corners of his lips turning down. A muscle clenched stubbornly in his jaw, and he squared his shoulders in a familiar, combative stance. Loki needed a new tactic.

 

He sighed, closing his eyes in apparent remorse. Then he stepped forwards, placing both his hands gently on Thor’s chest, smoothing over the fabric of his brilliant red tunic.

 

“Forgive me, I did not mean to snap. I just… you know as well as I do that this is my fault. Why do you think they fear the Jotnar have found a way into Asgard? My actions are the reason for their fear, and I confess, there is a lingering doubt in my heart. What if someone found a hidden pathway in my wake? If there are Jotnar in Asgard, I _know_ it must be because of me.”

 

“Loki…” Thor murmured. His hands clasped Loki’s waist, cradling him close. Loki allowed it, hiding his face against Thor’s shoulder.

 

“I can bear no more blood on my hands, and it will be my fault if anyone comes to harm. Please, for my sake if not for theirs, go to their aid. _Please_ , Thor.” Loki pulled back a little, giving him the most earnest look he could muster. He could see Thor’s resolve crumbling rapidly.

 

“If I go, you must come with me.”

 

“I cannot. I have not your strength, brother, as you well know. If it came to a fight…”

 

Loki trailed off, averting his gaze once more as though he were ashamed. The words left an unpleasant taste in his mouth, but he forced them out, hunched in on himself like a child, acted every bit the useless consort Thor wanted him to be. What else could he do? Without his magic, he was a tethered beast, bound to Thor’s every fleeting desire, his very life dependent on the state of Thor’s mood.

 

But Loki was no fool. He knew how to use his vulnerability to his advantage. Thor trusted him so easily when he knew Loki could not fight back.

 

If Thor saw something strange in Loki’s admission of weakness, he gave no outward indication. He just sighed, smiling ruefully. “You are right, of course. I confess it is partly due to my own selfishness that I do not desire to go. I would miss you.”

 

“Surely you can survive without me for a fortnight or so,” Loki said, lips quirking into a small smile.

 

“A fortnight?” Thor blanched. “Who said I would be gone a whole fortnight?”

 

Loki gave him an incredulous look. “Surely you do not mean to ride up on horseback, have a look about the place and then leave? If there is some hostile presence, you will need greater time than that to discover it.”

 

“But… I…”

 

Loki smiled at him fondly, leaning in and pressing a soft kiss to Thor’s bearded cheek, then his nose, then his lips. “I will miss you too, you foolish man. But it is duty, yours _and_ mine, that parts us. I will be here when you return, my love.”

 

The oaf looked dumbfounded, staring at Loki as though he could not quite believe his eyes. His arms tightened around Loki’s lean frame and a stupid smile blossomed on his face.

 

“You are a good man, Thor,” Loki murmured, willing the look in his eyes to match the tender smile he had painted on his face, despite the bitterness in his heart. It seemed to work, for Thor was practically glowing as he drew Loki in for another kiss, overjoyed despite their impending separation. A separation long-overdue, in Loki’s mind. He had always been a solitary creature, and he could barely walk two steps without being pestered by a love-struck Thor.

 

“Loki,” the oaf breathed.

 

He looked like a changed man. His eyes glimmered, and his face shone like a ray of sunshine. Gone was the misery, the anger, the burden of responsibility that had been forced upon him. He looked young again, regal, _happy_. He looked as though the greatest gift in the world had been offered to him, and he accepted it without a shadow of a doubt, his joy palpable in the air. Loki pulled away from Thor’s embrace, swallowing around a strange lump in his throat.

 

“You had best leave at once. You have a long journey ahead of you,” he said.

 

“We will leave within the hour,” Thor said, catching Loki’s hand and drawing him back into his arms. “Allow me this, though.”

 

He kissed him, sure and strong, his passion making Loki’s eyes widen a bit. It did not look like Thor would fall out of love any time soon, after all. He clutched at Thor’s shoulders like a bashful maiden, knowing he had to respond in some manner but unwilling to touch him more than he had to. They were both panting when Thor pulled back, his blue eyes dark and warm and filled with adoration.

 

“I love you,” Thor said simply, all earnestness and joy and honest emotion.

 

“For pity’s sake, get along with you. I haven’t the patience for your antics,” Loki said, waving him away with an exaggerated roll of his eyes. It made Thor laugh.

 

Loki saw him off. Thor greeted Hogun and Volstagg with great cheer, clapping them on the backs and booming trivial nonsense at them. He had chosen, at Loki’s instigation, to take Sif and Fandral along as well, though every look he cast them was strained. A mere mention of Fandral from Loki’s lips and Thor had demanded he go with him, his jealousy forbidding him from leaving the man near Loki when he himself was absent, though he would not admit it. Sif had been a little harder to get rid of, but an expression of nervousness at being left ‘unprotected’ and Thor dragged her along as well. Loki knew he was taking a risk in reuniting them, but he was reasonably confident that the strain between them would remain even after the journey. Thor was too enamoured with his spouse to forgive them yet.

 

\- - - 

 

The following weeks of blissful solitude passed far too fast for Loki’s liking. The castle was clamouring about in preparation for the coronation, and he was largely left to his own devices. At another time, he might have made as much trouble as he possibly could. Now, though, he hid himself away from prying eyes, resting and reading and planning his next move without any form of interruption. His movements were being scrutinised more closely than ever, given his actions last time Thor had gone away.

 

So Loki waited, and kept to his rooms like a bird to its cage. It was an apt comparison, in many ways. His magic had been snatched as a bird’s wings were clipped, so robbing him of not only his means of escape, but a fundamental part of his being. And no matter how he longed for it, no matter how he pleaded, Thor would do just as he wished, and Loki would be forever caged. He could not leave without his magic, for he could not hope to escape Heimdall’s all-seeing eyes, and if he even tried he had no doubt his punishment would be severe.

 

Those who said Thor was not a cruel man were blind.

 

All too soon, Loki heard the call that heralded the prince’s return. Out of his window, he could see people scurrying about the courtyard, could hear their barked orders and excited shouts to make way for Prince Thor. Loki stood, stretching, and made his way out onto the balcony to watch for Thor’s arrival. He did not wait long. The swift clattering of hooves alerted Loki to his approach, and Thor rode at a canter into the courtyard. He was alone, clearly having ridden ahead, but his company could not be far behind him. Thor dismounted swiftly, but from the smile on his face Loki could tell it was not fear that drove his haste. He waved a greeting to the courtyard at large, even as he turned his head up to look at Loki’s balcony.

 

Loki leant over the railing, breeze ruffling his hair as he looked down at his husband, lips quirked into a welcoming smile. Even from a distance he could see a change take place in Thor’s posture, a loosening of tension that had been unnoticeable until it was gone. After all, last time Thor had ridden out their reunion had been… less than pleasant.

 

For a moment, it was almost as though they were lost in time, Loki leaning over his balcony, and Thor smiling up at him. The breeze was warm and gentle, and the sun warmed Loki’s pale skin, wrapped around him like an embrace. The noise of the courtyard seemed to blur together, becoming faint and meaningless, and all the while Thor smiled at him. But Loki’s hands were clenched too tightly on the railing, and when he bent his head to look at them the spell was broken. He turned away.

 

He walked back into his room and out into the corridor, making his way towards the courtyard at a steady pace. He would play his part as dutiful spouse and welcome his husband home, pretend he was gladdened by his swift return. Thor would be pleased by the attention, he thought with a snort.

 

He rounded a corner, and there, to his great surprise, was Thor. He must have come straight inside. Usually he would boast of his exploits to the surrounding stable hands and common folk, then march into the palace to be swept into the shouting, jeering crowd of warriors he inevitably attracted. He would be taken off to the feasting hall, downing mug after mug of mead as he recounted his tale to his captive audience. Not today, apparently. Today, Thor was marching briskly down the corridor towards Loki’s chambers. Towards _Loki_. Thor’s whole face lit up when their eyes met, and in a few short strides he had Loki in his arms, practically crushing him in his embrace.

 

“Thor!” Loki wheezed, prompting him to loosen his grip, but not to let go. Loki had not expected to be properly reunited so soon. Thor was fond of a good tale, even fonder of being the one to tell it. Loki had anticipated spending the rest of his afternoon listening to the oaf’s boasts, if Thor brought good news, or being sent back to his chambers like a child while Thor addressed the king, if the tidings were bad. Instead, Thor came directly to him. The man’s sentimentality was not to be underestimated, it would seem.

 

“How I have missed you, brother.”

 

“You’ve only been gone a fortnight,” Loki reminded him, bemused.

 

“Even a day is too long.”

 

Thor pressed an urgent kiss to his lips, and Loki wondered if love sent everyone as mad as it did Thor. He was like a man starved as he looked on Loki, held him, drank him in as though they had been separated for decades and he could barely believe his eyes.

 

Thor’s foolish heart would be his ruin.

 

Loki pressed a hand firmly against Thor’s broad chest, pushing him back to arm’s length. Thor resisted for a moment, looking confused and disgruntled at once more being denied, but moved back obligingly. Still, he smoothed a hand through Loki’s hair, loathe to be parted from him. Loki allowed it.

 

“What news?” he asked. It was unlikely, so _unlikely_ , that Jotnar had somehow snuck into Asgard. Still, he needed to know for certain, though why it gnawed at him he could not say. He cared little for Asgard and its people, after all.

 

“Surely that can wait,” Thor said, reaching to pull him close again. The simplicity of his mind was truly admirable.

 

“Thor,” Loki said, tone brooking no argument.

 

Thor huffed, disappointment clear in every line of his face, but relented.

 

“It was no Jotun,” he said. Loki relaxed minutely, and Thor took the opportunity to press another kiss to his lips, as though he could not help himself. Infuriating creature.

 

“So what was it?”

 

Thor stilled, which made Loki let out a derisive snort. Did it truly surprise him that he would need to continue the conversation? Such an answer was unlikely to satisfy anyone, least of all Loki. Or perhaps he was surprised that his kisses could not distract Loki, as Loki’s could him. Loki was not so easily beguiled.

 

“We will speak of this in private,” Thor said after a moment, expression sombre. Loki’s eyebrows rose. Perhaps he bore bad tidings after all, though why Loki should be the first to hear them, he could not say.

 

Thor pulled back, finally, gesturing for Loki to walk with him. His expression had changed, and there was a serious set to his jaw and shoulders. It made him look older, tired, despite the strength he exuded with every firm step he took. How easily he adopted the garb of a king, and how heavily it weighed on his shoulders.

 

They went to Loki’s room, though once inside Thor was quiet, mind clearly focused elsewhere. He began to peel off the heavy plates of his armour, baring himself to Loki without thought, lowering his defences and turning his back in an unconscious gesture of trust. Loki’s fingers twitched.

 

He stepped close, running a gentle hand over Thor’s broad shoulder, helping him unbuckle the last of his armour. Thor lowered it to the floor, but neither of them paid it any further mind. Loki’s long fingers were brushing over the vulnerable skin of Thor’s neck, feeling the strong beat of a pulse beneath his fingertips, _feeling_ the slight hitch of Thor’s breath. He smoothed down the fabric of Thor’s undershirt, letting his hand come to rest on the firm plane of muscle over Thor’s heart. If he focused hard enough, he could almost feel it beating against his hand.

 

For a moment, Loki ached.

 

It felt almost like his magic dancing on his fingers, pulsing in time with the beating of his own heart, ebbing and flowing with the natural rhythm of his body. It came _from_ him, drew its power from the very core of his being, from everything Loki was and ever would be.

 

But Thor had taken it away.

 

Loki drew his eyes up to meet Thor’s gaze, curving his lips into a gentle hint of a smile to conceal the cold fury gripping his chest. It had been so long since Loki had felt his magic, so long since he had allowed himself to think on just how much had been taken from him. Now, he could not stop the way he yearned for it, even more, perhaps, than he longed for his freedom. The loss of freedom was a matter of the constraints placed on his body, but his magic was _part_ of him, an inseparable part, and Thor had _taken_ it.

 

Loki would have it back, he knew. He would get it back, and he would regain his freedom. But for now, he had to be patient.

 

Thor’s eyes were still serious, but his expression had softened again. He leaned forward, pressing a lingering kiss to Loki’s lips, then another, holding Loki’s hand over his heart like a promise. Loki wondered if Thor knew of the knife he kept in his sleeve.

 

“What did you find, Thor?” he murmured.

 

They were still standing close, so close he could feel the warmth of Thor’s body seeping into his skin. Thor stood in his space as though it was the most natural thing in the world. Loki could feel the flutter of Thor’s breath on his skin when he exhaled, could count the faded freckles on his nose. With barely a flick of his wrist, Loki could slit his throat.

 

“… Chitauri,” Thor said at length, mouth set in a grim line. “A small band of them were sneaking across the border. We dealt with them.” His lips twisted up and his tone became lighter, teasing, despite the serious set of his jaw. “I told you there was no Jotun.”

 

His hands moved to wrap around Loki’s wrists, holding both of Loki’s arms against his chest, but Loki paid him no mind. His thoughts had begun to race with possible reasons for the Chitauri’s coming, and none of them boded well. How had they gotten into Asgard? Most of their army had been decimated. They would need a great deal of energy to transport even the smallest number of soldiers, some kind of power they had not previously possessed. Yet Thor stood before him and joked.

 

“This isn’t funny, Thor,” he snapped. He tried to jerk away, but Thor wouldn’t let him. His grip, though not bruising, was like iron, and something twisted in Loki’s gut. “What, you think _I_ did this?”

 

An expression of genuine surprise crossed Thor’s face, as though the idea had not occurred to him. He shook his golden head, but still would not release Loki’s wrists.

 

“No, brother. I do not.”

 

“Then what is it?”

 

“We captured one, and interrogated him for some time,” Thor said reluctantly.

 

“And?” Loki prompted.

 

“They seek vengeance. On _you_.”

 

Loki stilled, keeping his face carefully blank. He had failed them, true enough, but vengeance… If they took him, _killed_ him, he had not doubt in his mind that Thor, tempered though he was by the trials of recent years, by banishment and pain and Loki himself, would wage war. They could not have re-built their army so quickly, Loki was certain. So what did they gain by assassinating him, when there was so much to lose?

 

“No harm will come to you, Loki. Not while I am here.”

 

Ah, Thor. As brutish and simple-minded as ever. He could not begin to comprehend the significance of the Chitauri’s coming. Could not understand the sheer power it would take to transport Chitauri soldiers into Asgard, hidden for who knew how long from Heimdall’s ever-watchful eyes. Thor was a fool if he thought he could protect him. An even greater fool if he thought Loki needed his protection. The arrogant, _domineering_ -

 

“How I love you,” Thor breathed.

 

Loki’s eyes snapped back to Thor’s face, startled by the abrupt change of his mood. But it had not changed, not really. There was something desperate in Thor’s expression, raw. Fearful. For all his confidence in his own strength, for all Thor truly believed he could keep Loki safe, there was still fear in his heart. Perhaps Thor was always afraid, for he loved so deeply, needed so intensely, that loss of love could mean his ruin. His admission of love, tender and heartfelt as it was, was the greatest vow he could undertake. His promises meant little. He could promise to protect Loki all he liked, but his promises were so easily, thoughtlessly broken. For love, though, Thor would do anything. If Thor truly loved Loki, loved him as much as he claimed to, he would protect him even unto death.

 

“You are a fool,” Loki said quietly. He meant it.

 

Yet when Thor kissed him, all warmth and yearning, Loki tangled his hands in Thor’s hair and kissed him back.

\- - -

 

The days went by, and with the passing of time Loki had to regret having sent Thor away. The solitude had been welcome and long overdue, but Thor was needier than ever. He kept catching Loki by the waist, tugging him close so he could press sweet kisses to his lips. The separation had only increased his ardour. It was the perfect result, of course, just not one Loki particularly enjoyed.

 

Still, despite his delight with their changing relationship, the exhaustion on Thor’s face and the tension in his brow seemed only to grow. It was not the Chitauri that bothered him, for Odin himself had dealt with the matter, and Thor trusted blindly in his judgment.

 

With his coronation around the corner, though, Thor looked more and more haggard every time Loki saw him. His response was… unexpected. He had, Loki supposed, always relied heavily on his idiotic friends, and he had isolated himself from them when he needed them the most. He had left himself to Loki’s mercy, at a time when he was most vulnerable. It was enough to send a thrill through Loki’s veins. Still, Thor did not seem to be coping well. There was a constant crease in his brow, an uncomfortable tension settled on his shoulders. Loki wanted to roll his eyes and turn the oaf out of his room, but he plastered a concerned look on his face.

 

“Are you all right?” he asked gently one morning over breakfast. It was the kind of manner Frigga adopted whenever she was worried, a manner brought about by honest affection and warmth. Loki had been on the receiving end of it on occasion; enough times that he could mimic it, for all that softness suited him ill. Thor was unlikely to notice anything unusual about Loki’s behaviour anyway, with the way his head was drooping towards his chest.

 

Thor jerked, startled by the sound of Loki’s voice. Loki heaved a sigh mentally, but leaned forward, taking one of Thor’s hands in his own, stroking it comfortingly. Thor seemed to appreciate the gesture, some of the tension leaking out of him, so easily soothed by his spouse’s ministrations.

 

“I am well, love,” he said, despite its blatant untruth. He had always been stubborn, but Loki had to wonder why Thor bothered. Loki knew him far too well, and knew exactly how to get his way.

 

“I can see that you are not. You look like you haven’t slept in a week, and you have barely touched your breakfast.” Loki pinned him with an unimpressed look as he reached over the table, fussing at Thor like one of his mother’s maidservants.

 

Thor heaved a great sigh, but smiled as Loki smoothed down his hair. “It is just stress. It will pass, soon enough.”

 

“Shall we take a walk in the gardens, then?” Loki asked. “Some fresh air will do you good, no doubt.”

 

Thor’s eyes snapped open in his surprise. Despite the changes that had taken place in their relationship, it was still rare for Loki to seek Thor out, even rarer for Loki to do anything more than tolerate Thor’s company. His words seemed almost to revive Thor, inconsequential as they were. He still looked tired, but his eyes were brighter, his gaze warmer, his expression bordering on wonder as he stared at Loki. He looked at him as though he finally had what he wanted. Loki’s fingers twitched, of their own accord.

 

Still, Thor’s expression of happiness suddenly flickered, conflict clear in his eyes, and Loki tilted his head in question.

 

“I have much work to do,” Thor said, a disproportionate amount of regret clear in every line of his face. A walk, he seemed to think, was a dramatic progression of their relationship, yet he was being forced to turn it down. Loki snorted. Thor put too much weight on the smallest of things, saw too much in too little. Still, though, he put his duty before pleasure. Though from the reluctance on his face, Loki could tell he would not need much persuasion to change his mind. 

 

“You have been working yourself into the ground. I ask for only an hour of your time. I have missed you.”

 

Just like that, Thor’s eyes went soft again, his smile small but true as he visibly surrendered. Loki hid a smirk. With barely a murmur he had won. It was a small victory, but it pleased him nonetheless.

 

“Then how could I refuse?” Thor stood, stretching, holding his hand out to Loki. “Come, dearest.”

 

Loki allowed Thor to pull him to his feet. Then, in a move which surprised his brother, he entwined their arms as they walked. Thor looked down at their entangled limbs, smiling with something akin to gratitude. _Gratitude_. He was _grateful_ to have Loki by his side, clinging to his arm for all the world to see. Once again, he read far too much into the gesture. Loki could guess his thoughts. They walked arm in arm like young lovers, pressed together as though they could not bear to be parted, as though touch itself was a declaration of undying love. Loki’s mood soured.

The day was pleasantly cool, despite the warm glare of the sun on their backs. There was something soft in the air itself, a sweetness, bringing neither the harsh breath of summer nor the bitter chill of winter. The leaves were a vivid green, with the slightest hint of yellow that came with the changing of the seasons. Rows upon rows of flowers were still in bloom, bright and colourful, despite the approach of autumn.

 

They walked together, quiet for a time, down the cobblestone paths of the queen’s gardens. Loki squeezed Thor’s arm, breathed in the smell of him. There was something… strange in his chest. It made him feel uneasy, made cruel words jump to his tongue, but he could not say them, not yet. He forced them down, despite the burn of them in his throat, despite the quickening of his breath as anger mysteriously bubbled in his chest. Now was not the time for that. He straightened his shoulders, measured his breath, and was silent as they walked on.

 

Thor paused under the shade of an old willow tree, watching its fronds dance across the surface of the pond. It was a popular romantic hideout, and Loki gave him a suspicious look. Thor was the one who had lead them here, after all, and he had always been inclined to grand romantic gestures, despite Loki’s obvious disdain. 

Thor led him over to the small stone bench, and Loki obligingly sat down beside him. Thor was sitting a little too close, in truth, his thigh pressed firmly against Loki’s as he gazed out at the water. Loki eyed it, but made no comment. He could see from the look on Thor’s face that he had something on his mind, though why Thor had chosen that particular day to voice it was beyond him. Still, Loki braced himself. He had never been one for Thor’s clumsy attempts at speeches.

 

“Do you remember when we were children?” Thor asked. His voice was uncharacteristically quiet. Loki was not sure why he bothered. There was no one around, and the pond life was unlikely to be disturbed by voices.

 

“I would be concerned if I did not,” Loki said, idly examining his nails. “We were children for many years.”

 

Thor snorted, but continued on as though there had been no interruption. “I used to come and sit here, sometimes, and imagine what the future would hold. I thought it would be glorious.”

 

“You always were inclined to foolish daydreams.”

 

“Yes, perhaps I was,” Thor said, a rueful smile on his lips. It looked strange on him. He had always been so bright, so brash, full of the reckless determination of hard-headed youth. To see him reflective felt wrong, somehow. “And now I am to be king.”

 

“Do you not wish to be?” Loki asked, raising a sardonic eyebrow. “Long have you desired the throne. Now it is yours, you regret it?”

 

“No,” Thor said with a decisive shake of his head. “It is my rightful place.” He paused, then, breathing out a sigh. “When I was a boy, I dreamed of being a brave and noble king. Sometimes I think that dream is beyond my reach. I have many failures to bear.”

 

“Why do you speak like this? Do you seek my sympathy?” Loki snapped, anger flaring bright and hot and unquenchable. Yet he could do nothing. He had to sit still and straight, restrain his body even if he could not soften the sharpness of his tone. He had to hide while Thor, golden and bright and glorious, spoke as though he had lived a life of suffering. He knew _nothing_ of pain. _Well,_ thought Loki, hiding the sudden smile that threatened to cross his lips _. Not yet._

 

He forced himself back into the present, meeting Thor’s eyes with his face unreadable. Thor exhaled, fingers twisting together.

 

“No, Loki. I just… I want to ask you to forgive me.”

 

Despite himself, Loki startled. He stared at Thor, searching his eyes for dishonesty, and finding none. He breathed out, muscles loosening, though his eyes remained sharp and his tone cold.

 

“Forgive me if I do not see the immediate connection between those two topics,” he said.

 

Thor shook his head with a frustrated noise, as though _Loki_ were the one being obtuse, clearly searching for the right words. Finally, after a few long moments, he spoke again.

 

“It is you I have failed most of all, brother. I have wronged you many times.”

 

“You have.” Kindness was not in Loki’s nature, and Thor was blind if he expected it from him.

 

“I will not apologise for bringing you here, or binding you to me against your will,” Thor continued, his voice an infuriating mixture of conviction and arrogance and condescension. “You left me no other choice, and I stand by my decision. But I will apologise for the pain it has brought you.”

 

“Why bring this up now?” Loki said, voice snapping like a whip crack in the silence of the clearing.

 

“Because I am to be king, now.” Thor grabbed Loki’s hand, tugging him back towards him. “I know you dislike such conversations, but let me speak. I have always dreamed of being a nobler man than I am. I wish to start afresh, and I want you by my side.”

 

“You already have me. You made sure of that,” Loki said. Thor’s eyes saddened.

 

“Not by your own design. It grieves me, to have wounded you so.”

 

“And yet you insist you were right,” Loki said, fighting the desire to yank his hand out of Thor’s grip. Thor sought his sympathy, his _forgiveness_ , but not once did he repent for his actions. He asked Loki to forgive what he himself had done willingly and would do again.

 

“It was the only decision I could make, under the circumstances. I cannot apologise for it, because I do not regret it,” Thor said, as he had said over and over again. If it had been anyone else, Loki would have thought they were trying to convince themselves as well as him. But it was not so with Thor. Thor was too bull-headed, too sure of himself. He doubted nothing.

 

“Then what is it you ask of me, Thor? What is it you expect me to forgive?”

 

Thor looked frustrated again, but he turned to face Loki fully, as though looking into his eyes could convey his meaning.

 

“I wish you to forgive me for your pain. You are much recovered, and that alone should prove my choice was right, but I know I wounded you. I have wounded you many times, though that has never been my intent. It is for those hurts I apologise.”

 

Loki knew he should have nodded, acquiesced, but what he found himself saying was, “ _Why_ , Thor? Why say this now?”

 

“Our lives are about to change, and I hope that change will be for the better. We can start anew, if you can find it in your heart to forgive me. I have long since forgiven you.”

 

Loki studied him for a moment, his posture rigid, eyes burning into Thor’s. “I do not forget so easily.”

 

“Nor do I,” Thor said simply. “But what’s done is done, and there is no changing the past.”

 

“Very astute.”

 

Thor eyed him for a moment, and Loki could only wonder what he found there that made him reach out to brush his fingers over Loki’s cheekbones. His smile was tender, for all Loki bristled like a cat at his touch, muscles tense and aching with the need either to fight or to flee.

 

“Loki, I love you.”

 

Loki barked a laugh, at that. “So you say.”

 

Thor looked sad.

 

“I do. I know you do not always believe it, but I do. When I lost you…” He swallowed, closing his eyes. When they opened again, they were a mask of grief, as though Loki’s loss were an open, bleeding wound, as though Loki were not sitting there beside him, whole and hale and entirely under his power.

 

After a moment, Loki allowed the tension to drain from his body, allowed his anger to flicker out. Not because he cared for Thor’s feelings, but because it was the appropriate response. He still needed Thor to trust him, to believe he was being ‘cured’. Thor’s feelings meant nothing to him. Nothing.

 

“I am here now,” Loki murmured, smoothing a stray lock of hair back from Thor’s face. _But not for long_ , his mind whispered. Not once he reclaimed his magic.

 

Something twisted in his gut, but he quelled it viciously.

 

Thor just gripped his hands, rubbing the calloused pads of his thumbs over Loki’s knuckles. For a long moment he was quiet. Then Thor licked his lips, shifting in his seat, and from the tension in his shoulders Loki could see he was bracing himself, preparing to say something he found difficult to say, but insisted on saying nonetheless.

 

“I cannot lose you again, Loki.”

 

Thor was not weeping. His voice was low, quieter than usual, but strong and steady. He did not cling to Loki or plead with him, did not throw dignity to the wind and beg him never to leave, beg him for promises _no one_ could hope to keep. He did none of those things. But the certainty in his voice, the tightness of his grip on Loki’s hands, said it all the same.

 

For a moment, Loki was silent, searching for words that would not come to his lips. Thor was so willing to bare his soul, to expose himself entirely, though from his posture Loki could tell he knew just how much of himself he was surrendering. Reckless, foolish man. He was too trusting by far. Loki searched for a lie, a promise, anything to persuade the fool that Loki would be his, that all his dreams would come true. They would not come to him.

 

“I know,” he said quietly. He had nothing else to say.

 

“Can you forgive me then?”

 

Thor’s eyes were piercing as they looked into his, sharper than Loki had ever seen them. They were so full of _something_ , a whirl of emotions Loki could scarcely identify, but they had him on edge. They were too intense, too full. Loki wanted so desperately to look away, but he could not. If he broke eye contact, he feared all his falsehoods would come undone with that single show of weakness.

 

“Yes. Yes, I forgive you,” he said, forcing the words past his lips. They felt wicked on his tongue, perverse, like some dark secret ferreted away. But Thor was inclining his head, smiling with relief, _believing_ him.

 

Thor believed him. Thor knew he was a liar, yet he believed him. Loki looked down at their entwined hands, his blood beginning to pound in his veins with the knowledge that he could speak such fallacy and have it unquestioningly trusted. His breath was coming faster, a strange excitement filling him at the sheer power his words granted him. It came so quickly he felt almost blind-sided, had to duck his head as though bashful, had to keep his grip from growing too tight. Thor had caged him, but he was not conquered, for the oaf saw only what he _wanted_ to see.

 

It was too much.

 

So Loki leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Thor’s lips, hiding the bubbling laughter in his chest by tilting the fool’s head to the side and kissing him like it meant something. Kissing him with his heart pounding in his chest, but for another reason entirely.

 

He did not love Thor. He could not.

 

He was not fool enough for that.

 

Loki pulled back, a slow smile spreading across his face as he looked into Thor’s eyes.

 

“Thank you,” Thor murmured. His eyes were soft, tender, but there was no hint of the vacant smile Loki was accustomed to. Instead Thor was bending his head, taking both of Loki’s hands in his, kissing each in turn and then holding them against his heart. “Thank you.”

 

\- - -

 

The day of Thor’s coronation came all too soon.

 

Loki stood at the bottom of the dais, awaiting Thor’s grand entrance. He wore not his armour, but silken finery that had been delivered to his door. Loki had seethed at the shame of it, but obediently dressed himself up like a pretty doll, harmless and submissive, merely rolling his eyes at the dumbstruck look on Thor’s face when he opened the door and holding back the acerbic words dancing on his tongue.

 

There was no time for such thoughts now.

 

He could barely hear himself think over the excitement of the crowd. They were even louder than they had been when last Thor was supposed to take the crown. His heroism had only increased, in their eyes. He was nobler, greater, wiser than he had been before, and their love for him had only deepened. Of course, the sentiment of the people as a whole was not universally matched. Loki could see dissenting faces in the crowd, some wary, others wholly hateful, much as they tried to conceal it, and it made him hide a smile. There were those who opposed Thor’s rule after all, those who saw Thor for what he truly was. Not all of Asgard was blind.

 

He could pick out Sif and the Warriors Three from their positions in the crowd, and a lazy smile tugged at his lips. Thor was theirs no longer, and they stood not as his friends, but as his subjects. They had no place on the dais, today, for Thor had strayed too far, played Loki’s game like a puppet on a string. The man would eventually forgive them, fool that he was, but by then it would no longer be important.

 

Even as he surveyed the crowd, Loki could feel Frigga’s gaze on him. But he would not turn. They had not spoken for many months, despite her pleading. She had abandoned him so readily, sold him like cattle to the highest bidder, tossed him like a whore into Thor’s waiting arms. He had no need of her, he told himself. And if he ever missed her, it took very little for him to forget the feeling.

 

The fanfare sounded, loud and pompous, to announce Thor’s arrival. The doors began to open, the guards stepping back and inclining their heads as Thor stepped forward, clad in red and gold, his arm raised to greet the roar of the masses.

 

For a moment, he seemed almost to glow, as shining and golden as the sun itself, and Loki’s breath stuck in his throat. It did not last long. Loki cast his eyes away for a fraction of a second and it was gone, leaving only a bitter taste on his tongue.

 

Thor’s arm returned quickly to his side as he walked forward. He did not walk like a man victorious. He was proud, certainly, but there was no swagger to his step. He held his head high, his shoulders straight, his mouth set in a solemn line. He was noble, regal. For all his faults, all his arrogance and brashness and stupidity, he looked like a king.

 

The cheering was almost deafening as Thor walked. He periodically inclined his head, from one side then to the other, but he did not revel in their attention as he had done last time. He paused, though, somewhere along the line, to accept a half-crushed flower thrown from a tiny little hand, raising his own hand in the child’s direction. Loki shifted from one foot to the other at the sentimental display, keeping his expression neutral, much as he wanted to roll his eyes. Thor was not so changed, after all, it would seem.

 

Thor’s eyes cut to Loki as he drew near, his gaze warming and his lip quirking. When he turned to Odin, though, his expression was grave, his mouth serious. He looked tired, up close, much as he tried to conceal it. He had spent his morning pacing in Loki’s chambers, muttering under his breath and running his hands through his hair until Loki had coaxed him into his arms. It had taken Thor some time to compose himself, and the proximity had made Loki even more aware of the minute details of his face, the gradual softening of his lips, the slow loosening of tension in his muscles. Loki had forced himself to relax, to be soft and welcoming, despite the way his fingers jittered. Even now Loki could not quite shake the feeling of Thor from his skin, Thor’s weight and warmth, the enticing smell of his soap. He mentally cursed when he realised he was dwelling on it, angry for a reason he could not quite place, and forced his attention back to the coronation.

 

His husband knelt at Odin’s feet, head bowed with respect as Odin spoke. Loki did not listen, knowing all too well how foolish it was to listen to the old man. Instead he focused on his brother, on the line of his shoulders, on the glorious red of his cape. Loki himself stood straight and tall, face carefully schooled, and did nothing.

 

All too soon, it was over. There was no interruption, no protest or outcry. Thor was king. It was done.

 

The crowd roared when Gungnir was placed in Thor’s hand, and he stood to greet them as their monarch. He looked over them all, smiling, one fist pressed over his heart like an oath. King Thor of Asgard, noble and mighty and _stupid_. Loki’s hands wanted to curl into fists, but he kept them loosely by his sides, knowing full well he was being watched. Loki himself was not a crowned ruler, merely the royal consort. Thor and Odin had ensured it, made it so that that Loki would not come into power unless they wished him to, until they themselves granted it. Yet still people watched him, the muzzled Jotun prince, looking for any sign of rebellion. He could not afford to show them any. After all, had Thor been a cleverer man, Loki’s head would have long since departed from his shoulders.

 

The oaf stepped down, holding out a hand to Loki. He took it, falling into step beside his foolish husband, his expression carefully composed. He inclined his head to the cheering masses every once in a while as they walked, while Thor waved his hand and smiled genially around him, friendlier now the coronation was done.

 

The noise was deafening. Rows upon rows of faces stared and cheered and threw flowers at their newly crowned king and his consort, all penned together like sheep. It was almost like stepping underwater, the roar of the crowd blurring into indistinguishable sound, no one voice more discernable than another. Then, mercifully, they reached the doors and swept out. Thor’s speech would come later, when the true festivities began. For now, though, Thor was a separate entity, passing before the eyes of his people and then out of sight, parading in front of them like a new toy before he actually had to take up the responsibilities of the throne. But it was over. One moment they were in the midst of a roaring crowd, the next they were in a side room, the cheering muffled by thick stone walls, and Thor was breathing out a heavy sigh.

 

He said nothing, merely propping Gungnir against the wall and reaching for Loki, wrapping his arms around him in a tight embrace. Loki allowed it, winding his arms around Thor in turn. They held each other close for a long moment, and Loki had to wonder at Thor’s thoughts. Thor seemed content to simply _be_ , breathing steadily in and out, surprisingly calm for all of his anxiety that morning. He seemed almost… sad. Though given that he had everything he had ever wanted, Loki could not begin to think why.

 

“Congratulations,” he said by Thor’s ear.

 

Thor snorted, squeezing his waist, and then pulled back a little. “I will rue this day soon enough, I am sure of it. Father has always complained of the paperwork.”

 

“True enough. But it is a small price to pay, is it not, my king?”

 

Thor startled, then shook his head with a soft chuckle. “It will take some time to get used to that. Though you need never address me as your king, dearest. To you, I am always Thor.”

 

“Even in public?” Loki asked, his eyebrows raised. His tone was playful, his lips quirked, but it was very much a test. Thor knew so too, judging by the serious look he gave him.

 

“Even then. Though I would prefer it if you would refrain from calling me anything unseemly.”

 

Loki laughed, small and soft but undeniably warm, and Thor’s eyes lit up at the sound. He brushed a tender hand over Loki’s cheek, leaning forward to press their lips together, soft and slow. Loki pressed into him, cupping Thor’s jaw in his hand, marvelling at how Thor could convey such affection with an action so simple. A press of lips from Thor felt intimate, for there was no calculation in the gesture, no ulterior motive. Just a physical expression of Thor’s devotion.

 

Loki gently disengaged himself, smoothing out the furrow of his brow and offering Thor a smile.

 

“Come, now. Your people await you. There is to be a feast in your honour.”

 

“We have an hour yet.” Thor reached for him again, smiling, but Loki stepped away.

 

“Then perhaps you should practice your speech.”

 

He turned away, making for the door on the other side of the chamber without so much as a backwards glance.

 

“How you madden me,” Thor said, his voice exasperated yet fond. Loki’s refusal to indulge his romantic desires had long been a source of frustration, yet Thor almost seemed to enjoy the chase, as though Loki were a giggling coquette. Loki rolled his eyes, but merely waved a disinterested hand in Thor’s direction as he stalked out. Still, it came as no surprise when the oaf decided to tail him rather than doing something productive with his time.

 

Thor was greeted with more cheering when they entered the feasting hall an hour later, and within minutes Loki felt like his head might explode. The people cheered at Thor’s entrance, cheered when he stood to make his speech, cheered during his speech, cheered even louder at the end of his speech, cheered during dinner for _no discernable reason_. The feasting hall was not small, by any means, but there were enough excited people crammed in that it was a cacophony of noise, even without the cheering. It was Thor’s hand on his thigh that kept Loki from leaving, though only because he had no desire to upset the man at such a crucial time. Thor kept shooting him glances, though, clearly concerned for his well-being. Loki knew he must look pale. And Thor, it seemed, had somehow torn his mind from his own glory long enough to notice Loki’s discomfort.

 

“Are you well?” he said near Loki’s ear.

 

Loki nodded sharply, and Thor gave him a long look, but turned back to the idiotic noblemen he’d already engaged in conversation. Loki himself had been forced to converse with a particularly moronic group of nobles who had taken it upon themselves to welcome him back into their fold, reassuring him repeatedly that his sins had been long forgiven, and simpering at him in an attempt to win his favour.

 

If he had his magic, they would never have dared to speak so. They had always been suspicious of him, wary of the power he possessed without ever even a hint of understanding. They knew _nothing_. They disdained him for doing ‘women’s work’ while simultaneously fearing him due to their own ignorance. Now, though, he was safely muzzled, _tamed_. He had no power of his own, was useful only in currying _Thor’s_ approval through their behaviour towards his consort. Loki could guess their thoughts. If they won him over, his favour would soften the opinion of his husband.

 

If he had his magic, they would have paid dearly for their assumptions. But even as he focused his mind, an action so well-known that it came without so much as a second thought, he knew it was hopeless. The words danced on the tip of his tongue, words to curse and wound and humiliate beyond reason. He could call upon any number of spells, some brought about by incantations and others through sheer force of will, but it was no use. There was nothing he could do.

 

Anger and bitter frustration rose in his chest, but he had no choice but to quell them. He had to play his part. All he could do was incline his head gracefully, and wait with as much patience as he could muster. After all, his magic would be returned to him. He would make sure of it. All that stood in his way was time.

 

Still, by the end of dinner Loki’s patience with his sycophants was entirely worn out, the steak knife in front of him growing an ever more appealing prospect. He tamped down his frustration, instead making himself look as pitiful as he could without losing his dignity.

 

When Thor next looked over, Loki had his napkin pressed over his mouth, making his hands tremble ever so slightly. Thor made a concerned noise, squeezing Loki’s knee in question. Loki took a deep breath as he removed his napkin, knowing he had Thor’s full attention.

 

“I beg your pardon, but may I be excused?”

 

It was easier than expected. Thor nodded immediately, putting a hand on Loki’s arm and politely excusing himself from the table as well. It was no surprise that Thor felt the need to escort him, accustomed as Loki was to being treated like a child, but he still raised his eyebrows when Thor took him by the arm and lead him out of the feasting hall. He raised a hand in farewell to the hall at large, prompting more cheering, which made Loki’s head throb and his lips curls back from his teeth. Still, he could not afford to be irritable. He forced his expression back into one of docility, allowing Thor to steer him out of the hall.

 

“Should I take you to the infirmary?” Thor asked.

 

“No, I am not ill, just overwhelmed.” Thor looked visibly relieved, and Loki restrained himself from making a sharp comment about Thor’s patronising over-protectiveness. Instead, he said, “It has been a trying day, but for you more than me. Forgive me.”

 

“There is nothing to forgive. It _has_ been a long day, and it has been some time since you have been in such loud company.”

 

“Mine has been a very quiet existence,” Loki agreed mildly, carefully keeping any inflection out of his voice.

 

Still, Thor paused for a moment, his jaw clenching. “Are you unhappy?”

 

Loki looked at him, widening his eyes as if in surprise. “No,” he said. It was half true, he supposed. He enjoyed solitude; it was the rest of his existence he disliked.

 

Thor seemed relieved, though, taking Loki’s answer as it was. Loki had to wonder if his ignorance was intentional, sometimes. Thor was too easily convinced, seeing only what he wanted to see. It was a foolish trait for any man, but even more so for a king.

 

They walked at a steady pace, Thor’s arm wrapped carefully around his waist, secure enough that he could catch Loki if he stumbled. He was a warm, presence at Loki’s side, familiar despite the great change that had taken place in his life. Thor was Thor, headstrong and stubborn and foolish to the last.

 

When they came to Loki’s door, Thor turned so he could look into Loki’s eyes, absently brushing a stray lock of hair from Loki’s face. Touch came so easily to him.

 

“You should rest,” he said.

 

Thor’s face was fond, soft in a way Loki had never thought it could be. Manhood had changed Thor, love had tempered him, yet at his core he was the same brother Loki had always known. Thor was so steady, changing as slowly as the mountains themselves, seemingly immovable but gradually shaped by the wind and the passage of time. Thor played the part of the doting, overprotective husband with surprising ease, but Loki knew his history. He had chased one maiden after another, declaring his love for her only to abandon her when another girl came along. Loki had no doubt the same would happen to him, given time. Thor was fundamentally the same as he had always been, and Loki would be abandoned just as surely as all his other lovers. But not yet.

 

He drew in a slow breath, making his tone as soft and sweet as he could. “I shall,” he said.

 

He lingered in the doorway, though, pulling Thor to him and pressing long kisses to his lips. Thor’s arms wrapped tightly around him, cradling him close, kissing Loki with the earnest affection of a boy, but the skill of a man. Loki was not sure how long they stood there, kissing over and over like love struck youths, before he finally pulled away, pressing a hand to Thor’s lips when he tried to chase after him.

 

“Off you go,” Loki said, his tone teasing and his lips quirked into an amused smirk. Thor seemed to need the prompting. He looked positively besotted, staring at Loki as though he were the only thing in the world.

 

Foolish man.

 

“Good night,” Thor murmured, low and intimate, the darkness of his eyes sending a shiver down Loki’s spine.

 

“Good night,” Loki said, forcing his lips to quirk into another smile.

 

He shut the door behind him, taking a moment to breathe out, listening to the sound of Thor’s footsteps as he walked back down the corridor. Then he stripped the silken clothing from his body, throwing it on the ground in disgust.

 

\- - -

 

Loki had anticipated that Thor’s first weeks as king would be busy, but the reality surprised even him. The following weeks passed in a blur. There seemed to be a never-ending stream of dignitaries coming to pay their respects. They had done no such thing when Loki was crowned, though he knew the circumstances had been different. Lawfully he had been king, but not in the eyes of the kingdom. The people of Asgard fully expected him to cede the crown when either Odin awoke or Thor returned. Loki kept his anger to himself, hid it behind pleasant smiles and civil welcomes, playing his part as was required. He had not forgotten, though. They would pay for it, in the end.

 

Finally, when the worst of it was over, when the dignitaries had just gone and Thor no longer had to work every waking moment, the man came to Loki’s chambers. They had seen each other in the interim, of course, for Thor would not allow anything less. But now he stood in Loki’s chambers, as free from duty as a king could be, unleashing a long sigh and slumping momentarily against Loki’s door as he shut it behind him.

 

“You must be very tired,” Loki said.

 

He stood at the window, and after a moment of consideration he turned so his head would catch the light in just the right way, the way he knew Thor liked. It worked, as it always did. Thor raised his head, taking in Loki’s form, and Loki could practically hear his heart stop for a moment, or whatever the cliché was. Either way, Thor looked bewitched. He was such a base creature. Loki tilted his head to the side to hide the unkindness of his smirk.

 

Thor still did not reply.

 

“Thor?” Loki prompted after a long pause. The man was just… staring, his expression soft but something sombre behind his eyes. But why should be feel sorrow? He had Loki, whether Loki himself willed it or not. If he wished to look on Loki as one would a doll, there was nothing Loki could do about it.

 

“Yes, love?” Thor said, apparently having forgotten Loki had spoken at all.

 

“Is something wrong?” Loki asked, tone a little more clipped, perhaps, than it should have been. Still, it seemed to jerk Thor out of whatever pensive state he had fallen into.

 

“Nothing,” he said, shaking his golden head. “It has been a long day, that is all.”

 

“I can see that. You look tired.”

 

A smile came to Thor’s face at Loki’s concern, and Loki had to refrain from rolling his eyes. Thor was so starved for Loki’s attention that even a mere scrap of it was enough to please him. His need was insatiable. Loki had to wonder if the oaf even knew how vulnerable he was, how much of himself he placed so thoughtlessly into Loki’s hands.

 

“It is one of the trials of kingship.”

 

“Of which, I am sure, there are many.”

 

“There are,” Thor said with a weary shake of his head. “You would not wish to be in my place.”

 

For a long moment, there was silence.

 

“Thank you for that assessment,” Loki said, sharp and low and cold as ice. He could feel his breath coming faster, and he turned abruptly away, balling his fists and gritting his teeth. Presumptuous, _infuriating_ man. Rage burned white hot - but he had to control it, he could not afford to succumb, even as he struggled to measure his breaths. Already the man was trying to reach out to him, placing a hand on his arm, and Loki jerked abruptly away.

 

“Forgive me, I misspoke,” Thor said. He reached for Loki again, but this time he gripped him tight enough that Loki was forced to turn, forced to look into his imploring blue eyes. Loki had half a mind to gouge them from his head.

 

“Loki, _please_.”

 

There was repentance in his voice, but not enough to prevent Loki from throwing Thor’s hands off him once more and whirling away. Thor made a noise like he was wounded and frustrated at once, and Loki bared his teeth.

 

“I spoke foolishly, I meant no offence,” Thor tried.

 

Even with his back to the man, Loki could feel him hovering behind him, no doubt wringing his hands and fretting about the trials and tribulations of his _perfect_ life, bemoaning his sufferings even as he stood there and _mocked_ and – no. Loki drew a shuddering breath. He forced himself to speak, forced himself quiet, though it came out in a vicious hiss nonetheless.

 

“Then perhaps you should learn to keep your tongue between your teeth.”

 

“I am clumsy, and thoughtless, but I did not intend to hurt you.” Thor exhaled, and Loki could hear him running a hand through his hair. “Words are not my domain, and I fear if I talk too long I will only cause more offence, though that is the last thing I intend. I do not intend to be cruel, beloved, and I do not mean to mock you. Please forgive me.”

 

After a moment, Loki nodded briskly in acquiesce. What else could he do? Thor was not a malicious creature, he knew. Arrogant and clumsy and endlessly infuriating, but not malicious. Loki had no choice but to forgive him, no choice but to force his anger down, lock it away where it would simmer for centuries if need be, until the balance was righted once more. He would not forget, but it was pointless to argue with a man so endlessly foolish, and Loki had other plans besides. He _had_ to let it go.

 

Thor moved hesitantly up behind him, pressing his hands to Loki’s hips and his repentant lips to Loki’s cheek. Loki allowed the tension to drain from his limbs, leaning back into the embrace despite the lingering violence beneath his skin. After a moment of consideration, he tilted his head to the side in a gesture akin to submission. He could feel Thor relax, tension between them dissipating. Thor nuzzled his face into Loki’s neck, and he could feel the brush of Thor’s lips against his skin when he smiled. It was… not unpleasant. Loki’s shoulders loosened.

 

“I love you,” Thor murmured, pressing his lips to the junction where Loki’s shoulder met his neck. The gesture felt intimate, uncomfortably so, simple as it was. It was just a kiss, a gesture Loki himself had performed a hundred times to a hundred different lovers, yet he could still feel the imprint of Thor’s lips on his skin like a brand. He was not sure whether to lean into it or pull away.

 

When he received no protest, Thor kissed him again. This time, though, his beard brushed against Loki’s skin in a way that made him flinch, the bristles of hair rubbing the wrong way against the sensitive skin of Loki’s throat. Thor jerked back at once, his hands dropping from Loki as though he had been burned.

 

“Forgive me. I overstep my bounds.”

 

Loki should have dismissed his apology, or accepted it, or raged at him, or _something_. If he were a kinder man, he would have done it. Instead, a darker excitement welled in his chest, vicious and biting and so, so cold. A glimmer came to his eyes, and when he turned to face his husband there was a smile painted on his lips.

 

“No,” he murmured, catching Thor’s hand before he could fully retreat.

 

It was his turn, now, to step into Thor’s space, reaching out a hand to caress Thor’s cheek. Thor’s eyes fluttered shut as he traced the line of his jaw, his cheekbones, his lips. Thor’s hands clasped him by the waist, held him close, but his grip was gentle, tentative, despite the catch in his breath and the desire plain in his eyes when he reopened them. He held Loki as though he were a frightened maiden, and Thor did not wish to startle him. That would not do.

 

Loki leaned forward and kissed him, teasingly, invitingly, with every skill he possessed. He ran his fingers through Thor’s hair, down his neck, across his chest and down his back. Thor responded as though electrified, cupping Loki’s face in his big hands, kissing him as though he were drowning in it. It was intoxicating, that surge of power. Thor moved like a puppet in his hands, moved without thought or question, like a willing slave at his master’s hand.

 

Loki pulled back, pressing their foreheads together. He shut his eyes, holding Thor close as they regained their breath. His body was still, but his mind was whirring, his thoughts dancing around and around in circles, caught between delirious laughter and heavy sensation in his chest, between fierce excitement and unbridled fury that Thor was so _foolish_ , so _blind, why do you not see me as I am?_ That too was quickly drowned out by a darker need, the need to have and possess, to make Thor yield even as Loki yielded his body, to control him, to fit himself so seamlessly under Thor’s skin that he could never, ever be rid of him, never replace him.

 

Thor was _his_ , now, and Loki would not readily relinquish his control.

 

He forced himself to steady, opening his eyes to see the desire in Thor’s eyes. The man was looking at him with wonder, leaning forward and pressing an achingly soft kiss to Loki’s lips. He was so simple, so malleable, and something in Loki loosened at the sight. His breathing gentled, his mind slowing enough that he could push his thoughts to the side and focus on kissing Thor back.

 

“Come to bed,” he murmured against Thor’s lips.

 

Thor pulled back so he could look questioningly into Loki’s eyes, searching for permission that had long been denied him. Loki quirked his lips into a playful smirk, and Thor looked momentarily astonished before his own lips curled up in response, eyes visibly darkening despite the way they glimmered. He pressed his lips to Loki’s, but this time it was purposeful, needy. He moulded their bodies together, angled Loki’s head back so he could kiss along his jaw and throat with a reverent urgency.

 

Loki bit back a laugh and pushed Thor’s head away, taking him by the hand and backing towards the bed. Thor followed him, looking flatteringly intoxicated, and the rush of power through Loki’s veins was heady. There was a smile on Thor’s face, and the look in his eyes was so warm, so tender, despite his obvious desire. He looked like a man who’d been handed the world, and how he could look so happy after the ups and downs of their relationship, their constant bickering and Loki’s tempestuous nature, Loki could not say. Thor was a fool. Perhaps there was nothing more to it.

 

Still, when Thor pressed worshipful kisses into his skin, murmured that he loved him in a voice that was breaking with emotion, Loki did not resist. He allowed their limbs to entwine, their breath to mingle as they tangled together on the soft sheets of Thor’s bed, kissing until they were gasping for breath, running their hands over naked flesh.

 

“I love you,” Thor panted, eyes wide and so very, very blue. He buried his face in Loki’s neck to smother a moan, pressing his lips against the pale flesh.

 

Loki ran his fingers through his hair and, with every lying breath, he murmured it back.

 

\- - -

 

After that, it was only a matter of biding his time.

 

He spent his nights in Thor’s arms, his days fending off his husband’s ever more besotted advances. Now they had been to bed together, it was as if a dam had broken. Thor positively showered him with affection, no matter how hard Loki rolled his eyes, stealing kisses as though he could think of nothing else, touching him as though Loki were a temptation he could not bear to resist.

 

Perhaps he thought he was making up for lost time. Their marriage, in Thor’s eyes, was now true. Loki was his spouse in every sense of the word, and no matter how stand-offish and irritable he seemed, nothing could cool Thor’s ardour. Loki, for his part, had to grin and bear it, allowing Thor his asinine romantic ideals, from long walks in the garden to garbled attempts at poetry murmured in his ear as they lay in bed.

 

He could not be truly irritated. In taking Thor to his bed, he knew he risked losing the man’s attention entirely, risked undoing all his planning and being cast aside once Thor had his fill of Loki’s body. Something in him had loosened when that proved not to be the case. He had timed it well, and Thor still looked on him in adoration.

 

Loki just had to wait. Thor was a slow man, by nature, and it would take time for him to consider returning Loki’s power. But once the idea occurred to him, Loki thought, he had a chance. Thor trusted him, loved him as much as he was capable of love. He wanted Loki to rule by his side. Why should he not return Loki’s magic?

 

It was pre-emptive, perhaps, Thor being as stubborn and patronising as he was. But Loki ached for it all the same.

 

As they lay together one night, limbs entwined, Thor pressing kiss after kiss to Loki’s lips, Thor finally made up his mind. Loki could see the moment where Thor decided, see the flicker of his eyes, the smile that danced on his lips as he looked into Loki’s face, a mixture of love and happiness and something akin to relief. He could see the moment Thor trusted him wholeheartedly.

 

Loki stilled his tongue, measured his breath, and drew the man in closer.

 

It was not until the next day that Thor decided to speak.

 

They were out in the gardens again, for Thor had seen the way Loki’s fingers twitched, seen the energy thrumming in his muscles, and assumed he was restless. He had proposed a stroll, looking pleased when Loki accepted without comment. He was very easily satisfied.

 

“I have been thinking,” Thor said as they walked, his hand wrapped securely around Loki’s.

 

“A dangerous pastime,” Loki said, fighting to conceal a sudden wave of excitement. He mentally cursed himself. He had waited for so long, planned so carefully. He could not allow everything to come undone at the final hour because he lacked control. He steadied himself, focused his mind, and sent Thor a teasing smile.

 

Thor just snorted, smiling fondly, and squeezed Loki’s fingers where they were entwined with his.

 

“How are you feeling, dearest?”

 

Loki raised his eyebrows, momentarily confused, before he realised what Thor was angling for. If he needed reassurance that Loki was of sound mind, Loki could provide it. Still, he let the conversation play out naturally. It was better that way.

 

“Better than ever,” he said simply. “The healers say I am much recovered.”

 

“And what do _you_ say?”

 

Loki shot him a look of feigned confusion. “Well, I agree. I am sleeping better.”

 

Thor smirked at him, looking far too pleased with himself, trailing his eyes up and down Loki’s form suggestively. Loki rolled his eyes.

 

“Stop that, you oaf. We are in public.”

 

“There is no one around.”

 

Thor paused, then, tugging Loki towards him so he could kiss him, smiling against his lips. Loki allowed it, but swatted Thor’s arm as a matter of principle when they parted. Thor just grinned.

 

His face sobered then, his mind clearly turning back to the point he had been trying to raise. He ran a hand through his hair, taking a deep breath and exhaling loudly.

 

“Thor?” Loki said after he’d been quiet for too long. Thor was so _slow_. But Loki had to tread lightly, so he reined his impatience in, pasting a look of concern onto his face.

 

“I have been thinking…” Again, Thor trailed off.

 

“Yes, you said that.”

 

Thor huffed out a laugh, shaking his head, but seemed to break out of his reverie.

 

“I think it is time your magic was returned to you.”

 

Loki widened his eyes to make himself look vulnerable, even as his mind raced and his breath caught.

 

“What?” he said breathlessly.

 

“You have proven yourself ready. I have no desire to keep you from what is rightfully yours.”

 

No desire, indeed. Despite his excitement, Loki felt a flash of anger. Thor had benefited from his helplessness, had _enjoyed_ it. It was only now he thought Loki tame that he would return his power, so certain Loki would continue to obey.

 

He was a fool. All he had for proof was the way Loki lay on his back in Thor’s bed, and that was no proof at all.

 

“What of the Council?” Loki asked. It was the only thing he could think to say with the way his blood was thrumming.

 

“What of them? This is a personal matter.”

 

 Loki could have laughed. Kingship had gone to Thor’s head, it seemed. He took no counsel from his advisors, sought no guidance from his friends. Well, he would pay for his arrogance soon enough.

 

“You are certain I am ready?” he asked with false trepidation, as though he _needed_ Thor’s guidance, _needed_ Thor to coddle him like a child. He curled his fingers around Thor’s as though seeking reassurance, and Thor smiled.

 

“I am,” he said, and there was such certainty in his face, such trust, that Loki felt something heavy settle in his chest. He dismissed it, shaking it off as best he could, allowing Thor to take his hand and lead him towards the throne room.

 

Stay calm, he reminded himself, inhaling and exhaling on an even count to steady the way his breath had quickened. Stay calm.

 

When they reached the throne room, Thor barked instructions at the guards, but Loki could barely hear them over the pounding of his heart. Soon Gungnir was placed respectfully in Thor’s hands, and the guards were returning to their posts just outside the doors.

 

It was just Thor and Loki, now. It seemed fitting.

 

“Are you ready, love?” Thor asked. He looked concerned. Perhaps he was even a little nervous, but his mind had been made up, and he would not back down now.

 

_Patience_ , Loki reminded himself, taking a shuddering breath. “I am ready.”

 

Thor nodded, drawing himself up to his full height, and took Gungnir securely in his grip. His expression was one of confidence, for all the way his eyes flickered, but it did not matter. Thor had made up his mind, and not even common sense could dissuade him.

 

“Loki of Asgard,” he said without preamble, voice strong and steady. “I return to you your power.”

 

There was a sudden flash, blinding, and it hit Loki’s chest like a blow. He staggered and fell to his knees as the light faded. Every muscle in his body quivered with the rush of power that flooded him, making his limbs shake and his teeth chatter.

 

He could _feel_ it. Raw, pure power, crackling and burning under his skin. His magic, taken from him for so long, finally returned to its rightful master. All this time, he had missing a part of himself, like a limb had been torn from his body or his eyes had been gouged from his head. Now his magic filled him again, coursed through him like a wave, stealing his breath even as it filled him with such life. He was alive again. It was _bliss_.

 

Slowly he looked up, chest still heaving with shock and excitement. Thor was watching him closely, smiling, but there was a tense set to his shoulders, and his grip on the spear was tight. He did not, it seemed, trust Loki as completely as he claimed to, instincts commanding him to be wary. He really should have listened to them.

 

Loki pushed himself up, slow and steady, rolling his head from side to side as his body acclimatised to the feeling of his magic. He was breathing hard, deaf and blind to all but the vicious excitement in his chest, the surge of magic that accompanied it. It felt so _good_ , like the sweetest of pleasures, his nerves singing with its sheer force as he gathered it beneath his fingertips for the first time in far, far too long.

 

Loki looked right into Thor’s eyes, allowing his smile to spread slowly across his face, allowing the full force of his anger and hatred to come into his eyes. He saw realisation slowly dawn in Thor’s face, watched as his eyes widened, his mouth falling open. Thor recoiled as though struck, taking a stuttering step back, his expression morphing into one of horror.

 

“Loki-”

 

Suddenly he came to his senses.

 

He jerked forward as though he’d been electrified, a wounded, animal noise bursting from his throat. He was reaching out for Loki with one hand, but the other was tightening around his spear as he raised it from the ground.

 

Too late.

 

“Fool,” Loki breathed.

 

Then he threw back his head and laughed, wild and high and ecstatic as his magic engulfed him. It wrapped around him like a vice, burning light overwhelming his vision, overwhelming the sight of his stupid, arrogant husband’s terrified face.

 

It was far too late.

 

Loki’s magic surrounded him, called to him, as he opened the door to a pathway only he knew. With one last, wild grin, he phased away from Asgard, leaving behind the echo of Thor’s final, desperate cry.

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, a big thank you to the lovely [Ingu](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Ingu), my beta, cheerleader, and pillar of support, without whom I would never have made it this far. 
> 
> Thank you also to [lucymonster](http://archiveofourown.org/users/lucymonster), for being kind enough to edit the final chapter of a fic she hasn't actually read for a pairing she's only vaguely invested in.
> 
>  **TRIGGER WARNINGS** \- general violence, verbal abuse, mental health issues, domestic violence**. If any of these is potentially triggering for you, please proceed with caution. If domestic violence specifically may be triggering, _please_ see the end notes for a brief summary of the content before you read.

For a long time, Loki walked in impenetrable darkness.

 

It was cold, black, bleak, yet the fire burning in his chest was enough to light his path. He walked hidden from Heimdall’s eyes, hidden from even the greatest of Asgard’s scrying magic, sequestered away in the dark spaces between worlds and planets and universes.

 

His magic, unused for so long, was stronger than ever. It was not inexhaustible, but he had yet to reach its limit. It flowed through him in hot waves and pulses, dancing in time with the pounding of his heart. It was in every heartbeat, every breath. It was _him_.

 

He would have his revenge for his enslavement.

 

He wandered for a long time, but it could not last. Though his magic was strong, his body grew weak and tired sooner than he would have liked, the result of so many months locked up, caged by Thor’s whim and desire. For a long time he kept walking, even as his legs began to shake and his breath came faster and faster, sweat beading on his brow. Slowly, over the passage of who knew how long, physical exhaustion threatened to overpower him, the sheer force of his will finally surrendering to the demands of his weakened body. He needed to hide and regain his strength, somewhere he could plan in peace. Somewhere Thor would never think to look.

 

He made his choice. It was borne of a wild thought, a foreign one, like someone else’s voice whispering in the back of mind, but it took root. Gripped him until he could think of no better hiding place, could find nowhere as simultaneously barren and readily defensible, nowhere as deserted or dangerous, nowhere someone could disappear to without the whisper of a trace, footsteps eternally wiped away and the crevices and cracks too numerous to ever risk discovery for someone who did not want to be found.

 

Loki went to Jotunheim.

 

He could not say what compelled him there, could not explain the tingling pull that drove every other possible haven from his mind, drove him to a place that repulsed him to the very marrow of his bones. Something deep within his gut, a perverse instinct, was telling him he could be safe there, calling him to the frozen wastelands of a savage, ruined people.

 

If anything, it was proof that he was beyond fixing. Proof that the primal instincts of his monstrous blood remained for all Asgard had done to stamp it out. When he needed to hide, when he needed to feel secure, he hid not in a place of light but in a place of darkness. He crawled into the barren icy wastes of Jotunheim like a wounded animal, seeking safety in its borders.

 

Only monsters found safety in Jotunheim, that he knew, that he had been taught from his earliest days. Nothing good dwelled in that long-damned world. It was a place more dangerous than several other realms combined, for all its technological inferiority. A place where everything and everyone meant you harm, people and beasts and even the land itself all as ruthless and deadly as one another, as cold as the ice that bore them. Nothing soft or good existed there that did not get frozen over. It was wretched, desolate wasteland as far as the eye could see, cities in shattered ruin, destroyed beyond all repair. It was a miserable, loathsome place.

 

Yet to Jotunheim, Loki willingly went.

 

It was only fitting for Thor’s pet to return to its place among the monsters, after all. For the outsider to withdraw into the darkness of the realm that spat it out at birth. Loki did not feel the bite of Jotunheim’s cold. He walked as only its people could, immune to the biting and gnashing of the wind.

 

And yet Loki was not one of them. He was _not_. He would wear the mantle of monster with pride, but he did not belong to these people. They were lumbering and clumsy, as brutish and violent as the land that bore them. He _could_ not belong to them, vile creatures they were. And in truth he would not be theirs even if he had wanted it. He was too small and weak, refused a place amongst them as readily as he was refused a place amongst the Asgardians.

 

He was neither Jotun nor Asgardian. So what did it matter if they thought him a monster? Even now he knew he was being hunted, knew Thor’s rage would be beyond all measure. The king of Asgard himself was hunting him, no doubt baying for blood, and Loki should have been afraid. Instead, it made his blood _sing_.

 

But that was not all, he reminded himself. The Chitauri hunted him just as surely as Asgard did, but theirs was a more dangerous hunt, despite what Asgard believed of its glory. Asgard was the mightiest of all the realms, but it was as brutish and headstrong in its methods as its reigning king, a hammer’s blow rather than the subtle twist of a knife. The Chitauri were a different breed, used to dwelling in the shadows. They went where the Asgardians could not, and their promised punishment for his failure on Midgard would be beyond even Odin’s cruel imagining.

 

He could not allow himself to be caught. But Loki had always been far cleverer at twisting out of tight spots than even Thor knew. Loki would not be found by the Chitauri. Instead, he would be the one to go to them. He would go to them, and he would dance his dance, ensnare them before they had a chance to exact their revenge.

 

But not yet.

 

He was hungry, and when he looked around he found himself huddled in the crevice of a cave in the icy wastes of Jotunheim, with only vague memory of how he had gotten there. He blinked around him, and after the dying flare of his magic finally flickered out came the sudden shock of weakness. How long since he had eaten? How long since he had drunk? His lips twisted down as he thought, his brow furrowing. He had allowed himself to be lost in his magic, and to have it pulled back inside him was like the shock of breaking the surface of the water for air. Suddenly the wind could bite him, for all he was immune to its chill, and his own body was turning against him in its weakness.

 

No matter. He could allow himself such a flight of fancy after so long without his magic. He had been so wretched, so deprived, without it. He tipped his head back against the cold stone wall, hair long and lank about his face, and he felt _free_. He had traded a gilded prison for a hole in a wall of solid rock, and he had never felt sweeter, he was sure of it. His body may have been ailing, but he was _free_.

 

He did not even attempt to hold back the burst of laughter that spilled from his lips.

 

_Free, free, free._

 

When it died down, he would think again, plan, ready himself for what was to come. But for a moment he savoured it, the pleasure rising in his chest like the caress of a fine wine, warming him from his fingers to his toes. He closed his eyes, and let it build and build and build.

 

Perhaps he slept, for when he opened them again the world outside seemed changed, and his mind had gone razor sharp.

 

He would eat and drink and regain his strength, for his body failed him where magic and mind did not. That must be his first action, for once his plan was in motion he would have little time for such simple things, necessary as they were. He would find food and water, and he would sleep as long as his body needed, as long as he was able. Then, the real fun would begin.

 

It would not be easy. Yet he was beyond fear now, beyond caution. His skin itched and rippled, his heart and head filled with that reckless wildness. It made him want to harm, to hurt, to gouge and claw and –

 

 

He had to wait.

 

He took a deep breath, stilling his hands as best he could, though they still trembled with excitement in his lap, still cried out for a taste of Thor’s worthless blood.

 

He needed food and rest, needed to regain his strength. Tomorrow, though. Tomorrow, he would begin.

 

\- - -

 

The Chitauri were easier than he expected.

 

They had been all but decimated by Stark’s little stunt, their very race hanging in tatters, seeking Loki in one last grab for power and vengeful satisfaction of pride. And they were dangerous, there was no doubting that. Their numbers were small, but large enough for Loki’s purposes. They were like animals backed into a corner, their vulnerability only making them more vicious, more feral.

 

Less calculating. Too trusting.

 

Or perhaps they were simply desperate enough to accept his help.

 

“You failed us once, Asgardian.”

 

Loki just grinned, and he knew he looked every bit as feral, as ruined, as them. He did not mind. He did not care.

 

“I am no Asgardian,” he hissed, malicious, mocking, but the words burned him nonetheless. All the years of lies and deception, all the years of rejection and otherness and suffering he had faced at Asgardian hands, believing he was one of them. Deceived.

 

“You have searched long and hard for me, yet I have come to you of my own volition. I am far more useful to you alive. You _could_ kill me,” he said, as the Chitauri before him drew in an angry breath. “Or we could make a new bargain – one far more beneficial to the both of us.”

 

“What could _you_ have to offer us, exiled false-king.” The reply was a whispered snarl, but Loki’s grin only widened.

 

“The time has come to look to greater things. Odin All-father is no longer king, for he has grown too weak and weary for the task. Thor now stands in his place.”

 

“Why do you come before us to tell us that which we already know?”

 

“Peace,” Loki said, raising his hands in supplication as they raised their weapons. “If you know Thor is king, you must also know that Thor made me his husband.”

 

“You had claim to the throne of Asgard when first you came here, yet still you failed us.”

 

“It is not Asgard’s throne over which I hold sway, but the heart of the king himself. Thor is a base creature, far too easily swayed by his own emotions. He who holds Thor’s heart also holds the head upon which the Asgardian crown rests. The new king is sentimental by nature, and a young and inexperienced ruler. _Now_ is the time to strike. As, ah… pleasant as your current abode may be,” he said, waving a hand over the hard, cold, barren rock, “I can offer you better things.”

 

“You failed us once,” came the reply, but it was less certain, less absolute. They were a greedy people, and greed was all too easy to control. They would yield, if Loki’s offer was sweet enough. Abandon their desire for revenge upon him in favour of the lure of riches and luxury.

 

Foolish, base, gluttonous creatures.

 

“I offer you a kingdom,” he said, his lips still curled in that manic grin. “The throne of Asgard, and all the power therein. Asgard is now unstable, its very foundation shaken by the change brought by a new king. It is ripe for the taking! All you need do is reach out and snatch it, but you will need my help.”

 

The Chitauri before him shifted, paced, the others lurking in the background turning their ugly heads and whispering amongst one another in their guttural tongue. The air was electric with the taste of their excitement, for all they muttered behind their hands.

 

It was so _easy_.

 

“And what is it you hope to gain from this?” hissed the leader, cold and forbidding, for all Loki could see the excitement that coursed through him as readily as the others, betrayed by the twitch of his hand and the change of his posture. Before, he had moved with the heavy aggression, the bitterness, of those clinging to what remained of their pride. Now…

 

Loki tilted his head to the side. “My ambition is petty,” he said, repeating the words one of their kind had spoken to him, rolling them mockingly off his tongue. “I ask only one thing.”

 

“Enough of your games. Tell us and be done with it.” They were rushing, jerking, impatient. No matter what Loki said now, he had already won.

 

The smile slipped from Loki’s face. His voice echoed like the crack of a whip, sharp and cold and unyielding.

 

“The king’s head.”

 

For long moments there was silence. He could hear the slight chinking of metal as the Chitauri before him moved, hand running over the hilt of its weapon, deliberating. But they would yield, Loki knew. He could feel it in the air, see it in the motion of the creature’s monstrous hands. They had already yielded, were already planning. They could posture for as long as they wished.

 

The silence dragged on. Then air hissed from between the creature’s teeth.

 

“We are listening.”

 

\- - -

 

It was unfortunate for Asgard that Loki knew its defences so well. He had been drilled on the subject as a child, drilled on how best to protect and serve. Then later, when he was a young man, he had tested the defences for himself, sometimes as he made an escape from a prank, other times simply because he wanted to know. Wanted to learn every nook and cranny, all the ins and outs of Asgard’s great shields. Knowledge was power, after all.

 

It had certainly paid off. He knew Asgard’s weaknesses. Which meant he could bring Asgard a war.

 

The Chitauri swept through the secret opening like a hand sliding through water, then the bright sun of Asgard was glinting off their dirty, roughened armour. They went through in a sudden explosion of shadow, a dark swarm sweeping over Asgard’s fertile land, bearing down on its city in a sudden flurry of motion.

 

There was a pause. A stillness. A moment of frozen shock. Loki could imagine the widening of eyes, breath stopping in the watchman’s lungs and heart stuttering in his chest before he scrambled desperately to sound the alarm.

 

 

And then the alarm rang, piercing and shrieking, audible all over the city and well beyond, and the city burst into life. The alarm wailed and caterwauled as the Chitauri came closer and closer.

 

It did nothing to hide the shouts and screams of fear as death came swooping in.

 

They came like a great black cloud, a writhing mass that cast a terrible shadow over the golden streets of Asgard, and Loki stood at their head, at the very prow of the greatest of their airships, sceptre clutched tightly in his hands and his hair billowing wildly around him.

 

His eyes flashed, his lips curved up in a smile he did not care to control, exhilaration singing in his very blood. It was time. Asgard lay before him like a gift on a platter, vulnerable and unprepared, every last, lying, worthless life spread out for the taking. He would have his revenge upon them all. Upon _Thor_.

 

When Loki laughed, long and low, a great rumble that burst from his chest, it was lost to the throes of the wind.

 

He had waited so long, too long. Chained like an animal, treated like a pet, cooed over then kicked then tossed into the dirt, the slave of his master’s whim. He could still remember the feel of Thor’s hands on his skin, rough and calloused but touch careful, so as not to break his toy. He could still see the way Thor looked at him, swearing that he loved him when Loki knew all too well of his violence, of his pride and wrath and lust, of the fickle nature of his heart.

 

He could still feel the way Thor kissed him.

 

Thor had burned him, branded him, Loki’s lips still aching from the painful heat, and Thor had cared nothing for his own cruelty.

 

He would die today.

 

Thor, reckless and arrogant and _vile_ , would die. He would pay for his sins. Loki would _make_ him pay. And Loki could finally be happy.

 

There was a deafening blast to his right as Asgard’s turrets began to fire, the airship next to him going up in a sudden burst of flame, careening to the left then plummeting helplessly to the ground. Loki gritted his teeth, throwing his arm out in a short, sharp signal, and the fleet began to descend.

 

The turrets fired rapidly, but most of them were still out of range. Occasionally Loki would hear desperate shrieks behind him as another ship was brought smashing down, but it did not matter. The Chitauri were expendable. And he had no intention of taking them within full range of the turrets to be shot down one by one.

 

The army went lower and lower, then lower still, close enough that he could see the terror written on the Asgardian’s faces as they came down. Some fled, civilians grabbing their children and running as fast as their cowardly legs would take them. Others, though, were taking up arms, faces set in expressions of determination and anger, for all their fear. Though admirable, their courage would do them no favours.

 

The Chitauri soldiers, still airborne, began to fire. The streets went up in a haze of light, shouts and cries cut abruptly short.

 

Thor would be furious. The thought made Loki laugh again, the spiking adrenaline in his veins warmed by a swell of delight.

 

Loki’s transport slowed, and he leapt off in a single elegant motion, landing lightly on the burning ground. Some of the soldiers wheeled right over his head, avoiding turrets as best they could while firing at anything in sight. Others landed behind him, Chitauri soldiers streaming into the city on foot as the Asgardians rushed to meet them.

 

Then, the battle began, the world around him shattering to flashing steel and the screams of the dying.

 

The Asgardians were a warrior people, and had moved with urgent swiftness to take up arms and defend themselves. But they were at a disadvantage, despite their hasty efficiency, too surprised to have time for any tactical manoeuvres, crumbling in great sweeping waves as the Chitauri burned their way through.

 

They were not as far into the city as Loki would have liked. They had been forced to land only on the very outskirts, only just out of the turrets’ safe range, where they could shoot without inflicting harm upon their own people. It was not ideal. The civilians were fleeing quickly, and the resistance was swift and strong.

 

But it was not strong enough. Not for Loki.

 

He blasted his way through the soldiers before him, clearing a path so that he moved unimpeded, glided, elegant as if he moved in a dream, even as people screamed and fought and died around him. He raised his arms and destruction came forth, unstoppable, unmerciful.

 

He was the eye of the storm, the centre of the chaos, a god returned to all his glory. Power flooded through every inch of him, exhilarated him, exulted him.

 

He _was_ death.

 

A streak of light left the palace, coming rapidly towards them, catching Loki’s eye even as he slashed the throat of a man foolish enough to stand in his way with only a deft flick of his wrist. The sky overhead began to darken, the electrified tang of lightning sending a thrill down Loki’s spine.

 

 

He did not see exactly where Thor landed, but it did not take long to locate him. The man had landed up ahead, and even from a distance Loki could hear his roars, hear the Chitauri shrieking and dying as mighty Thor felled them with every stroke of his hammer. Loki needed only to look for the highest body count and there would stand Thor, all brutal, crushing anger, all of Asgard’s immeasurable strength in every blow of his hammer.

 

Loki moved forward, and the crowd parted for him whether they moved willingly or not, the end of his sceptre tainted with blood.

 

He broke free of the side streets, moving into an open space that usually acted as a merchant’s dock, far on the outer edges of the city but still within the city itself. It would have been a pretty place, vibrant grass and green trees, but already the ground was charred and smoking from cracks of lightning, fallen bodies staining the ground with their blood.

 

And there, at the centre of the destruction, the centre of the Asgardian resistance, was Thor. His face was set in an expression of bull-headed determination, and though Loki stood some way away, there was no mistaking the snarl on Thor’s lips. His strokes were sure and lethal, every blow of his hammer striking with deadly force. No movement was wasted. With every swing of his hammer, Thor meant to take a life.

 

Loki’s expression twisted, and he tossed the sceptre aside – he had no further need of Chitauri weapons. Thor’s death would be close, personal, and entirely of his own making. He wanted to feel Thor’s lifeblood seeping through his hands when the worthless man died. In the sceptre’s place, Loki drew a long, cruel dagger, as sharp and cold as Loki himself.

 

The next soldiers who moved into Loki’s path, shocked recognition darkening into expressions of enraged betrayal, met the agonising heat of flame bursting forth from his fingertips. Their screams seemed to fade into the background, though, for Thor finally turned, the body of a Chitauri falling broken at his feet, and their eyes met across the battlefield.

 

A slow grin spread across Loki’s face.

 

Even from a distance, he could see the change that wrought Thor’s features. He looked as though he had been struck, the savage triumph in his expression evaporating as he recognised Loki, as he realised just what it was that Loki had done. For a moment his eyes went wide with shock, mouth falling stupidly open and grip on his weapon loosening in his surprise, but then his face… crumpled. Loki did not need to hear it to know Thor had drawn in a pained gasp of air, face twisting and contorting and stripping him of his beauty, making him something primal, something less.

 

He looked as though his strength had been punched out of him in one fell blow, powerful shoulders hunching, fingers going slack, mightiness collapsing in on itself with sudden, overwhelming emotion. There was grief written all over him. _Grief._ Not challenge, rage, or even disgust. His expression was one of betrayal, horror, sadness so gut-wrenching it consumed him, burned him from the inside, and he could not conceal it. The shock was too much for him, too sudden for him to shield his foolish heart. He could conceal nothing, and what was there was almost animal in its pain.

 

Mighty Thor, brought low at last.

 

Loki raised his chin, that same grin painting his face, and he knew he must look half-mad. His hair was loose and wild, his armour black and splashed with deep red blood, his right hand clutching his wicked-looking dagger. He looked dark, _terrible_ , for how could he be any less when all of Asgard quaked before him, dreaded him in a way Thor, for all his brutality and warmongering, had never been dreaded? Loki thrilled with it, revelled in it, every step of his thick black boots striking terror into the hearts of Asgard’s bravest warriors. He was formidable, unstoppable. Invincible. All would bow before him, would quake and tremble at his feet, kneel down and submit themselves to him.

 

All but Thor. For Loki would not be satisfied until Thor lay dead.

 

Thor’s grip on his hammer had grown lax as he stared at Loki, stared at the destruction Loki wrought with every measured step he took, as he idly struck down anyone who got in his way. Now, though, Thor was coming back to himself, grief darkening with the strength of his betrayal.

 

Now, his fingers tightened, his balance moving back and forth on the balls of his feet as he readied himself. His face was drawn into a snarl, a savage thing, borne of both anger and pain, tormented but no less vicious for all the conflict written on his face, for everything he could not understand, had no time even to try. Raw and real. The oaf’s chest rose and fell, each motion more dramatic than it should have been, as though Thor felt if he just breathed enough, the sight before him would disappear. The braids in Thor’s hair were visibly loosening as he called upon a storm, golden strands moving wildly in the gathering wind.

 

But – he was not _calling_ the storm. He made no attempt to channel it, to constrain or control it, to summon lightning or otherwise use his primal power to his advantage. The storm gathered around him unbidden, _uncontrolled_. Thor had lost control, wild and unconstrained emotion feeding into the full force of his power, all his warrior’s focus and prowess coming to nothing.

 

Loki had done that, had reduced Thor, the king, his husband and brother, to _nothing_. The rush of power that shot through him made his blood _sing_.

 

Thor unleashed a great roar, as broken as it was challenging, flinging himself up into the air to meet Loki head on. Loki did not even have to move. Thor landed before him, power pulsing all around him, through the air and ground and his entire being, enormous muscles clenched tight and breathing harsh through the grit of his teeth.

 

Loki was more than ready.

 

“Loki! What have you done?” Thor shouted, and the world around them shook. He spoke with the force and power of a king, but there was no mistaking the tears in his eyes. No concealing that in the space of a second he had been thrown entirely off his guard, stripped of his warrior’s focus, caught in ways he had not anticipated, and now he blustered to recover some face before all of Asgard would see their king come crashing into ruin, the result of his own stubborn pride.

 

But Loki knew him far too well. Thor was breaking before his very eyes, torn a thousand ways at once.

 

Loki had waited so long.

 

“Oh, I’ve missed you too,” he said lazily, all but swaggering as he closed the last little distance between them, picking his way through corpses without the blink of an eye.

 

“What. Have you. Done,” Thor repeated between the clench of his teeth, every muscle in his body fraught with tension. He was so unimaginative.

 

“Surely you cannot begrudge me a little fun.”

 

Loki reached out with both hands, the blade in his hand angled away from Thor, though he saw the way blue eyes tracked its gleam. Thor stood rigidly stiff but he did not draw away, whether through sheer stubbornness or because he still wanted so desperately to trust Loki, to prove Loki had not betrayed him after all. At the very least, Loki did not stab him now. Not yet.

 

He rested his hand against the side of Thor’s head, a gesture of affection so often performed by their parents and later by Thor, though Loki himself rarely showed such tenderness, for all its brevity. It was a gesture intended to mock, to taunt, for Loki touched Thor with the hand that held his dagger, pressed the hilt of it warningly against Thor’s skull so that he could not forget it, so that Thor would dread the dagger’s bite even though its blade had not yet moved to touch him.

 

With the other hand, Loki used his forefinger to caress Thor’s chin, lifting it like a cat playing with a mouse as Loki summoned his sweetest expression. He made his eyes soft, his lips curve, his face gentle and unassuming, his too-long fingernails scraping at Thor’s skin. He took on the persona of loving spouse once more, draping it over himself like a well-worn blanket, and Thor’s eyes went wide. Loki could _feel_ the way Thor’s breath hitched in recognition, feel the way his throat shifted as he swallowed convulsively. He saw the horror in his eyes as Thor realised just how much Loki had deceived him.

 

“What would you have me do, my love?” Loki purred.

 

He leaned further into Thor’s space so his breath coasted against Thor’s lips, so close that they could kill each other, here and now, with the barest motion of a hand. Loki pressed himself against Asgard’s most terrible berserker in the very heat of battle, taunted him, yet knew to the depths of his bones that Thor could not bring himself to hurt him, not yet, not like this. Thor did not even push him away, just froze beneath his touch, every moment he had spent with Loki no doubt flashing before his eyes, every loving glance and gentle touch revealed for the falsehoods they were. For the first time in his life, Thor was forced to realise just how wrong he was, had always been.

 

As for Loki, he would not kill Thor like this. It would be too swift. The man deserved no such mercy.

 

“Do not mock me,” Thor breathed, and there was anger colouring his words, but mostly he just looked pale, shaken, his eyes dark with a horrified understanding he could barely make sense of, even now blinded by his sentimentality and sheer stupidity. And then, in one foolish, subconscious gesture of weakness, Thor’s eyes closed, and he tilted his head ever so slightly to the side. It was astonishing. Thor’s heart shied from what lay before him, but his head should have known better than to look away.

 

The position left his throat bare and vulnerable, and Loki could see the outline of his veins, delicate lines that ran the length of Thor’s neck, fragile despite the brute strength of their host. It would be so easy, just a flick of his wrist and Thor would be dead in the blink of an eye, but easy was no longer enough. Thor had to suffer. Loki would _make him_ suffer, just as Thor had made him.

 

Loki ran his fingers through Thor’s hair, guiding his head up so he could look into his eyes, running his fingers through the golden strands in just the way he knew Thor liked, the way that soothed him. Thor’s eyes opened of their own volition, pain and anger whirling round and round in their depths. Loki stared right into his eyes, and his lips curled up into a wicked grin.

 

They were so close, a parody of their former intimacy. How often had they stood like this? Loki’s hands in Thor’s hair, foreheads all but pressed together, Thor staring at his eyes and face and lips as though he could not get enough, and Loki bearing the scrutiny. He had been patient, meek, malleable, while rage burned hot and bright in his chest. Now he allowed Thor so see it, to see him as he truly was, all the anger and bitterness and violence he had held back for so long, the hilt of his blade pressed against Thor’s skull in the caricature of a caress, Loki’s teeth bared and his fingers threatening to rip Thor’s hair from his head.

 

Thor grunted in pain, and for a moment Loki could see Thor’s shift from pain to defensive aggression, could see him steeling himself for a fight, and Loki’s grin went wider. But then… _something_ changed in him, and Loki did not know why. Thor stared at him, and the fight was _leaving_ him, had left him as quickly as it had come. Thor stared, and his eyes flickered, and his expression was drawn into something Loki could not read, had not expected, did not recognise. His eyes searched Loki’s face, bored into him, studied him with a sharpness that made Loki’s fingers unclench from Thor’s hair before he realised, made him put space between them, made him want to turn away.

 

Whatever Thor was looking for, he found it. His lips twisted grimly, his shoulders dropping, still strong but not aggressive, not combative. Thor kept staring at him, and then he… he…

 

He smiled.

 

A bare twitch of the corner of his mouth, awash with sadness, but a smile. Thor smiled. _Smiled_.

 

Even now, he would not give Loki satisfaction.

 

 _Damn_ Thor’s worthless eyes.

 

Loki’s hand was raised before he had time to think, cracking harshly across the man’s cheek, just to do something, _anything_ , to wipe that _look_ off Thor’s face. That look that said Thor knew something Loki did not. As though some way, somehow, Thor had the upper hand.

 

Damn damn _damn_ him.

 

Thor took the blow, head snapping to the side, but his hand flashed up to catch Loki by both of his wrists, preventing him from further violence.

 

“I do not wish to fight you,” he said quietly, for all that a battle still raged around them, for all the lives Loki himself had taken.

 

What was _wrong_ with the man? He was quiet when he should have been a raging storm, gentle where he should have been violent, and he kept _looking_ at Loki. Looking and looking and looking, but he did not recoil in anger or betrayal or disgust, did not try to harm him or even lecture him. He looked at Loki as though he had discovered something only he could see, as if Thor could ever know, _had_ ever known, something Loki did not.

 

Loki did not _understand_.

 

His breath was coming far too fast, vision slowly edging on red, and in the fraction of a second he was pulling free and slashing at Thor with all his strength, dagger sweeping in a deadly arc to meet Thor’s throat, and Thor was forced to move backwards. Loki panted, teeth bared, hair wild around his face and obscuring his vision. His muscles were beginning to tremble, laced with adrenaline and blind rage, and how he hated him, he _hated_ him.

 

He lashed out in a sudden explosive motion, but again Thor dodged, making no move to attack Loki for himself.

 

“ _Fight_ me,” Loki snarled as he lunged again.

 

“Loki, calm yourself, just-” Thor broke off as he deflected a blow with his hammer, straining to keep the dagger away from his skin.

 

“ _Fight_ me, you worthless man. Did you think there was any possible way I could have loved you? Any way I could have _wanted_ you? Our marriage was nothing but a charade, every moment with you a prison sentence, a _torture_. Your love is nothing, _means_ nothing, for I have always, _always_ hated you.”

 

“ _Loki_ ,” Thor grunted, barely parrying another strike to the throat.

 

“And how could I have loved an insipid, stupid, ogre of a man? Did you think your brutish ways would woo me? That your arrogance would endear you to me?”

 

Loki’s dagger flashed like lightning, and blood seeped from the shallow mark across Thor’s cheek. Loki circled, watching, waiting, a vulture eyeing off its mark.

 

“Your touch sickened me, every kiss a brand on my lips, burning into me and ripping me apart while you took your selfish pleasure. And I will burn _you_ in retribution for all you took from me, all you forced upon me. You are vile, you are selfish, and Asgard may believe you cured of your arrogance but _I know better_. There is not a creature in the world who could ever truly love you! I see what you are, Odinson, and it is _nothing_.”

 

Thor flinched like a wounded animal, every word Loki spoke a physical pain, gutting him, coring him, for Thor had made himself far too vulnerable to Loki and now he could not shield his heart. If another had spoken these words, Thor might have simply laughed. But this was Loki, and Thor had given too much, surrendered parts of himself until there could be no defence. Loki spoke, and Thor’s mouth twisted into a pained grimace, his heart shattering with every word, and Loki could see it, he could _see_ it. Thor’s eyes were wide and lost, flinching as each verbal strike hit home, wretched and miserable.

 

But he would not fight. There was determination in the set of his shoulders, a stubborn set to his jaw, his grimace tinged with a grief that Loki could not make out, all grim resignation and something that looked almost concerned, though for what he could not say. Thor _would not fight_. He deflected, over and over, dodged and weaved, all the while trying to talk Loki down.

 

“I will kill you, _all_ of you,” Loki raged, anger coursing so hot he was wild with it, and this time the dagger hit its mark. It slashed a stripe of red across Thor’s arm, blood bubbling and spilling as soon as the mark was made. Thor jerked his arm away, a hiss of pain escaping his gritted teeth.

 

“Do not make me hurt you!”

 

 _Loki_ was not the one who was going to hurt. Thor was going to know agony, true agony, at Loki’s hands. Loki was going to hurt _him_. Rip his belly open with his bare fingers, rip his entrails out and shove them down the man’s throat as he choked on his own screams.

 

Loki lunged again, and this time Thor used the strength of his arm to shove Loki back.

 

“ _Please_.”

 

“You will die on this battlefield, Odinson,” Loki hissed, relishing his power, relishing the blood on his blade and the burn in his lungs, the lancing of fire through his veins as his power built and built. “You will die in pain and _misery._ Your father will be next, eye gouged from his head, strangled with his own intestines.”

 

Across from him, Thor was going white, and oh he had him, he _had_ him. Thor would not yield to him when his own safety was at stake, but for the sake of his loved ones, Thor might kill him yet.

 

“I will leave Mother until last,” Loki told him, spilling from his mouth like acid, scouring his chest and throat and tongue, rising in lancing pain from the depths of his belly, but it was glorious, so _glorious_ , he was making Thor _hurt_. “I’ll hang her from the tallest tower and let the crows pick away her flesh as she struggles for breath, the blood in her throat drowning out her screams-”

 

Thor snapped.

 

Without warning, without even a sound, he lunged forward, fist raised in a punch that missed only by a hair, a guttural cry bursting from his lips. Then his hammer was swinging towards Loki in a wide arc, forcing him back, and he settled on the balls of his feet, grinning savagely, watching the way Thor’s chest heaved with his ragged breaths, the way his grip had tightened around Mjolnir.

 

Then the battle began.

 

Thor was all size and strength, swinging his hammer in mighty strokes, the air itself crackling with electricity as he moved, swift, despite his size. Loki was subtler, nimbler, every strike of his dagger dangerous, his aim lethally precise.

 

Thor brought his hammer down in a great slam, the very ground reverberating with the force of it as Loki stepped to the side, watching the way the dirt cracked and fissured in the aftermath. He lunged forward towards Thor’s bared side, then feinted to the right. Thor barely dodged the slash to his throat.

 

He swung in a wide arc, forcing Loki back again, but Loki would not stay away. He slithered and struck, serpent-quick and just as deadly, and Thor was barely parrying his blows, too slow and lumbering to do any more than defend. He used his hammer to deflect the flashes of the blade, twisted and turned out of its deadly arc, swung around and around to force Loki backwards only to have Loki leap for the next vulnerable spot.

 

 _There_.

 

Loki lunged forward, and Thor jolted, a rough gasp forced from his throat as Loki’s dagger pierced his gut, straight through the weak point in his armour, impaling him on its cruel steel. It was only half-seated, for almost the same instant he thrust it forward Loki was forced to pull away, Mjolnir swinging around to meet him.

 

It was not a fatal hit. But then, it did not need to be. He wanted Thor to suffer through this. And from the way Thor grit his teeth, the way his eyes widened and his spare hand clutched at the wound, Loki could see he was getting his way. He laughed, and it would have been warm if not for the blood on his blade.

 

Then it was Loki’s turn to be surprised, startled by the sheer speed at which Thor moved. Thor brought his hammer arcing down, and Loki was forced to lean abruptly back, off-balance, his body wheeling around to the right, blade-arm facing the wrong way as Mjolnir changed trajectory mid-air, propelled in a powerful swing right towards his head.

 

There was no time to move, to dodge, to _breathe_ , hammer coming straight towards him with the force of ten charging bulls, a wall of solid metal, aiming right for his skull –

 

It missed him. Whizzed by his hair with a crackle of electricity that sent a chill up his spine, blood draining from his face as his body registered just how close it had been to death mere seconds ago.

 

… No, it had not missed. It was _re-directed_.

 

Thor’s arm plunged past him as the stupid man lunged forward with his whole body, arm moving too fast to change its trajectory through anything less than the full weight of his body pushing it to over-swing. The full force of his hammer smashed into the ground, sending a shower of dust high into the air around it. And Thor, in his _mercy_ , had been forced to over-lunge, throwing himself off-balance, stumbling from the power of the swing so that one of his knees hit the ground.

 

He could have ended it. _He could have ended it_. Thor could have smashed his hammer through Loki’s skull and ended it all, all the fighting and the suffering and betrayal. But he would not.

 

He was not even trying, Loki realised. He had not been trying. He did not go on the offensive not because he could not, but because he was not truly fighting Loki. He was letting him win, refusing to strike, _refusing_ to battle Loki as a warrior should.

 

For a moment, Loki’s rage blinded him, knife shaking in his grip, adrenaline still coursing through him like an electric shock. Then, he had a moment of thought, and his lips curled into an ugly grimace. Even now Thor coddled him, pandered to him. As though Loki were not a threat. Loki’s one and only triumph over the man, and Thor sought to take that too, to make Loki’s victory less. For a moment, Loki believed it, and his hatred knew no bounds. But it did not ring true, not quite.

 

It was not that Thor would not fight him, he realised, but that he _could_ not. Loki turned his head to look at him, and Thor’s eyes were positively tormented, yet there was nothing indecisive in his face. He could not bring himself to kill Loki, could not even entertain the notion, even after all that had passed between them. He would sooner risk his own life to pull one of his blows than harm Loki.

 

Foolish, sentimental man. Loki had no such qualms.

 

He flicked a smaller knife out of his sleeves, plunging it straight into Thor’s thigh, baring his teeth in savage pleasure at Thor’s cry of pain. Then Loki was on his feet again, his dagger whirling at Thor’s head, and once more they battled.

 

Even now, Thor held back. Even as his leg threatened to give out beneath him, as sweat dripped down his face and his own blood stained his armour red, as Asgard itself was burning around him. He would not strike a fatal blow. And his attempts to incapacitate Loki were too careful, too reluctant to risk a mortal wound, and Loki danced all too easily out of his grip.

 

Thor would not last much longer. His breathing was laboured, his face caught in an expression of obvious pain, his mobility reduced and his ability to defend himself suffering for it. He was still pulling his blows, because Loki knew all too well that Thor had more fight in him, had seen him fight harder while injured far worse, berserk and merciless as he smashed his enemies to a pulp.

 

Thor would not, could not, be that way with Loki, even as his own death drew nearer. He could not summon the brutality to win, could not raise his arm if he thought the damage to Loki would be too great. Thor would not incapacitate Loki if in doing so he risked killing him.

 

Thor’s heart would be his ruin, and Loki had known it all along.

 

With a cleverly-timed kick and a flash of his dagger, Thor went down, legs giving out beneath him and body tumbling down into the dirt. He hit the ground hard, clumsily trapping his left hand beneath his own body due to the awkward angle and suddenness with which he fell. His hammer, which had been in motion, was flung out of his hand when he went down, and Loki saw his chance.

 

Thor’s hand shot out, trying to call Mjolnir to him, but Loki was faster. He plunged a knife straight through Thor’s outstretched hand, through flesh and bone, right to the hilt, and Mjolnir dropped to the ground as Thor gave a shout of pain. His free hand was rendered useless, twitching helplessly around the blade, and the other was pinned beneath his body. With one quick motion Thor’s legs were pinned as well, Loki settling his own weight on top of the man to keep him down. And just like that, Thor was defenceless, sprawled before Loki like a lamb at the slaughter.

 

There was no time for him to right himself. He barely had time to react.

 

Loki’s dagger flashed up, glinting sharp and cruel before Thor’s eyes, and he could see the way Thor’s eyes widened. Thor looked to his face, and only then did he truly realise Loki’s intent. He saw his death in Loki’s eyes, and he lay trapped and helpless on the ground as the dagger angled for a fatal strike.

 

“It’s over,” Loki hissed, teeth gritted and bared, his voice mangled and foreign in its savageness, rough and grating for all his vicious delight.

 

Thor thrashed beneath him, breath harsh and unsteady, stilling only when cold metal pressed against the exposed length of his throat. He looked straight into Loki’s eyes, every inch a man at the gallows, his death acknowledged but uncomprehended, every fibre of his being pleading for reprieve.

 

Yet even now, he was not angry. His face was twisted with helplessness and horror and a thousand regrets, but not anger. He would not give Loki the satisfaction. He looked straight into Loki’s eyes, straight at his _death_ , and he was betrayed and broken but still he would not get angry.

 

Instead, the breath rushed from his lungs, and he went still. He gave up, with barely a flutter of his lashes, his muscles going lax, his struggles ceasing. He looked into the eyes of his executioner, and _stopped fighting_.

 

Loki’s blade pressed tightly to his throat, forcing his head to tilt back, skin breaking when Thor reflexively swallowed. It went no further.

 

They stared at one another, both panting harshly, the battle still raging around them reduced to nothing more than white noise.

 

Loki’s breath was coming in gasps, his teeth still gritted, rage still burning in his chest. He wanted to _hurt_ Thor, to spill his worthless blood across the ground, to end his pathetic existence once and for all. Yet there was – _something_ , in him. Something that made his heart clench painfully in his chest, shards of ice and burst of fire piercing him both at once. His mouth tasted like bile, his vision began to blur, and when he tried to tighten his grip his fingers were slippery on the handle, robbed of their strength, beginning to shake and tremble.

 

He stared at Thor, at his golden hair and tanned skin and blue, blue eyes. Foolish, reckless, arrogant man, cruel and controlling and blind and Loki hated him, he _hated_ him. All the hurts and broken promises, the selfishness and casual cruelties, the years of neglect followed by years of domineering subjugation, the shame and inadequacy he so readily inspired. Loki hated him. He had a blade pressed to the worthless man’s throat. One slash, one flick of his wrist, and it would be over, Thor’s lifeblood spilling over his hands, eyes going blank, chest stilling at last. Just one little flick.

 

There was something else in Thor’s eyes, now, something that shone even as he succumbed to despair, but Loki did not _care_ what it was, could not think of it. He did not care for anything but the triumph of Thor’s death, his greatest victory. It did not matter that his hands were still trembling no matter how hard he tried to steady them, no matter how he struggled to keep a firm grip on the hilt.

 

“Loki,” Thor said, and it was the barest fraction of a whisper, the softest exhalation of air, yet still it was too much. Even with a blade pressed to his throat, blood slowly trickling out around it, Thor did not beg for his life. There was no plea in his voice, no call for mercy. There was not so much as a flicker of hope in his eyes.

 

He said it like a wounded soldier, whispering the name of his beloved to the sky so that their memory would be the last thing on their dying lips. Even as Loki held a dagger to Thor’s throat, the stupid, sentimental _oaf_ of a man still uttered his name like a dying prayer. Still watched him so that when the light faded from his eyes, Loki would be the last thing he saw, his last vision of the world and life itself.

 

He was a fool. A _fool_.

 

In that moment, Loki could not tell whether he meant Thor or himself.

 

Loki steeled himself, breathed in a shuddering breath, called upon all his willpower to force his grip tight around his blade in preparation to strike. His vision was blurry, hot trails tracing down his cheeks, every breath he drew a stabbing pain in his lungs. His fingers would not move.

 

Tears dripped from his eyes onto Thor’s face, and still Thor watched him, but Loki could not see his face through the veil. His hands would not stop shaking, his heart thudding painfully in his chest, sobbing and choking on his own weakness.

 

He could not kill Thor. He could not. Even as he strained his mind, his body would not obey, every fibre of his being screaming at him to stop, refusing to do his mind’s bidding.

 

He could not do it.

 

With a strangled noise he tossed the blade to the side, staggering to his feet and stumbling away, arms clenched tightly around his middle as though he were in pain.

 

He had failed. Thor had been utterly at his mercy, restrained and vulnerable and _right there_ , yet Loki could not strike him down. He was weak, so _weak_. Even with his victory at hand, he was too weak to strike the final blow.

 

“ _Loki_ ,” Thor said again, voice cracking and breaking.

 

He had failed. He should have killed him, _could_ have, yet he had not done it, even though he had his dagger to Thor’s throat, even though Thor lay broken and helpless beneath him. He was weak. Useless. He was _weak_. Unwanted second son, outcast, freak, not a friend in the world, nothing to lose, yet still he could not do it.

 

He was all but doubled over, snarling sobs dripping uncontrollably from his chest, but he was long past caring about his dignity. He was nothing. Useless, helpless, weak. A son nobody had ever wanted, left to die in the barren wasteland, taken in by parents who could not love him and a people that did not want him. He was _nothing_.

 

“Loki, come to me,” Thor was saying, hoarse and injured but still trying to _soothe_ him, still trying to speak to Loki like one would a feral beast, to calm him and tame him.

 

“Loki. Beloved, please,” Thor said as though it _meant_ something, as though ‘beloved’ were Loki’s name, as though he had any right to call him that. Through the haze of his own wretchedness, Loki realised it was only now that a plea entered Thor’s voice.

 

Thor’s life had been granted him, his hope restored, yet only now was he willing to beg. Loki turned, and Thor was on his knees, bloodied and injured but not broken, despite the desperation written all over his face as he pleaded, _pleaded_. He begged only _now_ , pleaded for Loki to go to him, pleaded for his love to return to his arms. Thor would not beg for his own life, yet there he knelt on the ground, begging for _Loki_.

 

It was impossible, that Thor’s love was still intact, that he was so desperate that all his righteous fury and fierce pride, all his strength as a warrior and as a man, all his noble ideals and avenging spirit, had been cast aside. Yet there in the dirt he knelt. Perhaps he was simply too injured to do otherwise, with a knife wound in his thigh and many more besides. Yet somehow, that did not seem right. The slump in Thor’s shoulders, the way his arms hung limply before him without ever attempting to push himself up or even grasp for his weapon with his good hand, the strong lines of his body gone limp and useless, as defenceless now as he was with a knife to his throat.

 

Even without a blade, snarling and crying like a madman, Loki had defeated him.

 

He should have delighted in it, he _had_ delighted in it, his proud brother brought so low, reduced from noble prince to common man, conquered by the weakness of his own heart. It was what he had always wanted. Thor was king, ruler of all of Asgard, greatest of the kings in all the Nine Reams. Yet with all that weight on his shoulders, all of Asgard at his command, Loki had ensnared him, enslaved him, with little more than pretty words and sensual caresses.

 

Thor was just a man. Brought down from his pedestal at last. Brought down into the mud where Loki lay.

 

And Loki could not kill him.

 

“We can fix this, Loki, I swear. Everything will be all right. Just – please, _please_ come here, come away from the battle.”

 

Thor was babbling, rambling, the same words and phrases over and over again, soothing, entreating, gentle for all that he still bled from wounds inflicted by Loki’s hands.

 

Loki did not understand, he did not understand, did not, _could_ not, wanted to scream scream scream but he could not _breathe_ -

 

Loki come here all will be well Loki beloved do not do this come here come here stop listen please

 

He did not think, did not pause to speak or even drew breath. He just gathered what was left of his strength, and in a burst of magic, Loki was gone.

 

\- - -

 

It was some time before he took stock of his surroundings.

 

He sat hunched in the dark against a rocky wall, hands twisted into his hair, his sobbing having long since given way to a quieter misery.

 

Weak, weak, _weak_.

 

He had failed. He had been about to win, victory a flick of his wrist away, yet he could not bring himself to do it. Even now, the idea of it made him choke and gasp, something in his chest splintering into an inexplicable panic. He was so weak, so _worthless_. Even in his moment of triumph, he brought failure down upon his own head. Loki tightened the grip of his fingers, and let the hot tears trickle silently down his face.

 

He did not know how long he stayed there, crouched in the dark. It did not seem to matter.

 

When finally he recovered his senses, wiping the moisture from his cheeks, hiccoughing sobs dying in his throat, he did not recognise where he was. He had hidden himself away deep below the surface, following a tunnel as it twisted down and down into the dark. He knew, at least, that he was not on Jotunheim. The weather was not cold enough, the air did not have that all-pervasive sting to it, biting no matter what one did to alleviate its chill. Instead it was muggy, damp, cool in the darkness of the cave but with the promise of warmth further up.

 

It felt familiar, and he could recognise something in the taste of the air, but he could not pinpoint where he was. He had travelled to many different places and worlds over the course of his long lifetime. Perhaps, though, he could have identified it if he really tried. As it was, he was beyond caring, as long as he was enveloped in the comfort of darkness.

 

He tipped his head back, his head thunking against the rock. His hair was horribly dirty. When had that happened? It had not bothered him before; he had not noticed. But now it was an uncomfortable weight on his head, greasy and lank and knotted, filthier than it had ever been, as far as he could remember. His whole body was dirty, for that matter. Caked with mud, sweat, and blood long since turned to crust, his armour stiff with it. And now he had noticed, the sensation was overwhelming, a nagging discomfort he could not ignore.

 

He cleansed himself with magic as best he could, almost frantic in his motions, stripping off the bulk of his armour and abandoning it in favour of cleaning what was close to his skin. He would not feel truly clean until he had washed, but it was better than nothing. He did not want to leave just yet. He preferred to stay curled in a hole in the dark, like a wounded animal.

 

He was so, so weak.

 

His memories of the battle were oddly disjointed, flashes of rage and violence and blood that were crystal clear, but none of them flowed seamlessly together. They were moments in time, disconnected as much from him as they were from themselves, for though he could see them clearly he could not summon recollection of the sound or smell or feel, as though he were watching them through a pane of glass. Shattered, fractured, cutting from place to place like actors playing out a scene on a stage.

 

Loki swallowed, his throat very dry, rubbing a hand over his face. It was rough beneath his fingers, stubble of who knew how many days scratching against his skin. And when finally he stood, his legs trembled beneath him, barely holding his weight.

 

How long had it been?

 

He staggered up, up, up and out into the light of day, shielding his eyes against the sun. He did not recognise his surroundings any better than he had in the cave. He emerged from the side of a mountain, a sprawling green valley before him, beautiful but indistinct, unremarkable. Green grass and dense forest, but nothing of particular note, no landmarks or species that would tell him where he was. He could have been anywhere.

 

He found a stream, and the sight of it was accompanied by the sudden realisation of his desperate thirst. He all but flung himself to its bank, cupping his hands and drinking over and over until his belly was full and his hands began to steady. He had been shaking. His head still felt light, and he needed to find food, but it could wait until he was properly clean. He stripped off what was left of his clothing and submerged himself in the water, scrubbing and scrubbing until he began to feel real again, until he could breathe.

 

It was peaceful, there. He could breathe.

 

He stayed hidden in the valley for some time, as long as he dared, regaining his strength. He put up his magic shields when he had the energy, hid himself from Heimdall’s eyes once more, though he knew it was probably too late. If Heimdall had wished to find him, he would already have done so.

 

Still, no one came. For the time being, Loki was left in peace.

 

On one night, in a moment of particular weakness, he went to the river and scried Thor, watching his image dance across the water. Thor was bent over his desk, pen scribbling, and it must have been night in Asgard too for he was wearing his bed robe. Yet still he worked. He looked as though he had recovered from his injures, his skin healthy and golden, his movements free, but his face was heavy, brow lined and eyes tired. He still wore his wedding ring, thick fingers stroking it out of habit as he read, his touch as gentle as a caress.

 

Loki pulled away, and did not scry him again.

 

Instead he sharpened his weapons, cleaned his armour, and steeled his resolve. A plan had already formed in the recesses of his mind, even in his weakened state, and now was the time for him to act. The Chitauri would come for him, he was sure of it. In their eyes, he had betrayed them. They were wrong of course, but then such creatures always were. Loki had never been on their side to begin with, so there was no bond to betray. They had been tools, not allies. The only person he had betrayed was himself.

 

He thought of Thor’s face as he reached for him, bloodied by Loki’s own hand, pleading with him, _for_ him –

 

The Chitauri.

 

Loki wiped away all traces that he had ever been in the valley, scrubbing it carefully clean with his magic, then he faded into the spaces between worlds. He travelled under guise, watching, listening, gathering as much information as he could. He fed himself on stolen coin, and kept his ears pricked and his knife close at hand.

 

The Chitauri had been decimated at Asgard, as he had heard it. For all the advantages of a surprise attack, the Asgardians had fought them off. The markets of Vanaheim had been abuzz with it, and though the information garnered was imprecise it was freely and excitedly given, though it was not long before the merchants’ attention was back on their own royalty’s latest scandals.

 

The Chitauri had done damage, true enough. Asgard had been unprepared, blindsided by a weakness they had never known existed, and the Chitauri had made it into the city proper. But then, Loki had left. Without him the foolish creatures had no tactical advantage, falling into disarray without a strong leader, abandoning tactical manoeuvres in favour of open scrum. One by one they had been picked off. And without him, they had no way to open the path, nowhere to run when the tide of battle fell in Asgard’s favour. As far as he had heard, Asgard had taken only a few of them prisoner. The rest had been slaughtered where they stood.

 

But there were others still out there. Their numbers miniscule, but their fury focused twofold on him. Twice failed, twice betrayed. There would be no persuading them a third time, no plea nor threat that they would heed if ever they saw him again. They would rip him limb from limb, after they had made their sport of him, and feed his corpse to their beasts when they were sated.

 

They would never forget what he had done. Not for all the world.

 

A slow grin spread across his face, his plan solidifying in his mind. Loki ran his hands through his loose hair, dusted specks off his roughened armour, let his magic dance at his fingertips. He stretched long and lazy, arching his back like a cat. A bath, a meal, some new clothes. And then, he thought, then the hunt would begin.

 

They would kill him if they found him. So he had better find them first.

\- - - - -

 

It was inevitable, when his work was done, that Loki would return to Asgard.

 

He travelled widely, traversed the Nine Realms in search of his prey, but his strength was not inexhaustible, and the endless travel began to bore him. His mind dwelled on other things. His wedding, forced. His marriage, a lie. His husband, a fool. And as inevitable as the tide itself, his anger swelled like a wave in his chest, not violent or sharp or even cold, but constant. Unrelenting.

 

Loki had never been one to let a grudge lie. His memory was long, his anger immutable, unsoftened by the passage of time or even the weakness that had stayed his hand. He had unfinished business, and he must see it done.

 

And if, in the very darkest hours of the night, when his rational mind had been long since put to rest and the ache in his chest meant something else, it did not matter. If he dreamed of Asgard, it was an animal impulse, a need for home and hearth so intrinsically part of every creature that walked the earth. Loki was a creature of the wind, untethered and drifting wherever he so wished, but that did not stop the earth from trying to pull him down.

 

Even if Loki had wished to, he could not go home. He belonged to nothing and no one, neither Jotun nor Asgardian. An anomaly. An aberration.

 

Nevertheless, he would go back to Asgard - he had to. He needed some form of resolution, for something tight and uncomfortable had long since settled on his chest, and he could not be rid of it until…

 

Until what, he did not know. Thor had not yet paid for what he had done, not fully, and Loki had a score to settle, a crime to punish. That should have been all it was. But it was not, not quite. And Loki hated it.

 

He should have waited longer to return, let Thor wait and wait until his anger at Loki began to implode. Should have left him long enough that Thor would think him dead, and his fury would have no proper outlet. For how could Thor be anything less than furious? Loki’s treachery should have weighed on his mind for a hundred years, twisted him in anger and uncertainty alike, until it marked his kingship with the force of his hate, until the last pieces of joy were suffocated and Thor’s light diminished. Loki should have waited and revelled in it. But he did not.

 

In some ways, he was just as foolish as Thor.

 

It was getting late when he transported himself into familiar chambers, and the sun cast a warm golden hue over Asgard as it slowly descended, bathing everything in soft light. Normally he would have found the sight abhorrent, a symbol of everything he despised about the place, its softness a guise to conceal Asgard’s animal brutality. Now, though, it made something loosen inside him. His lip twitched as if, somehow, it wanted to smile. If he were to be sentimental, he might have called it almost… welcoming. But he had lived there too long, knew the place too well. Eventually it would begin to burn him, for he was a thing of the dark where Asgard was made of light, but not yet.

 

Not yet.

 

There was a tall figure out on the balcony, leaning over the edge, golden hair playing in the soft breeze. Loki could feel his pulse spike, heart giving a loud thud in his chest before his anger welled up to swallow it whole. His footsteps were silent as he picked his way across the floor, giving the enormous bearskin rug a wide berth. Its eyes stared glassily, its fearsome jaw lax and harmless. Thor had always had an inexplicable fondness for strewing dead things about the place as decoration, and it was a propensity Loki had never shared.

 

“Thor?” he called, and though his voice was quiet it reverberated like a sudden crack of lightning.

 

Thor whipped around, and there was a whooshing noise as Mjolnir leapt from the bedside to his hand, but Loki did not flinch as it passed him. He raised his hands to show they were empty, eyebrows raised and sardonic smile playing at his lips. Thor did not move to attack. Instead his eyes went helplessly wide as he registered just who it was standing before him, his mouth falling open, his foot stumbling back involuntarily, as though he had taken a blow. And perhaps he had. Loki had never seen him look so simultaneously dumbstruck and shattered.

 

Thor swallowed, Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat, and righted himself as best he could. He strengthened his stance, and raised his chin so he looked Loki dead in the eye like the king he now was, all nobility and might.

 

Loki had seen it, though. His weakness. Too many things had flashed through Thor’s eyes all at once, too swift for Loki to pick out any one emotion, but he did not need to. Thor was weak for him, even now. Loki’s fingers twitched.

 

“I notice you have strewn even more bits of dead animal about the place, in my absence,” he said, waving an idle hand to encompass Thor’s chambers, though he intentionally paused over the wolf pelt on Thor’s bed in a silent show of disdain.

 

Thor’s eyes shuttered, something clenching and unclenching in his jaw.

 

“Do not mock me,” he said lowly.

 

He did not look as well as Loki had thought, though to be fair some time had passed since he had scried him. His beard had grown longer, a little too long, and was beginning to look unkempt. There were dark circles under his eyes, and from the tension and exhaustion written all over his face and body, Loki could well imagine the long nights he must have spent working and worrying and pacing. All without Loki to ease his mind.

 

The thought made Loki’s expression twist into a sneer, something ugly settling in his chest, but it was not quite enough to smother the way his heart clenched. Thor had a bleak, almost dead look to him, as though he were relying purely on instinct to keep going, rather than the strong will he had possessed all of his life. He moved with a heaviness he had not previously possessed, all light gone from his eyes. It was what Loki had wanted. Now, though, he found himself looking away.

 

“Why have you come?” Thor asked. He did not sound angry, or even accusing. Just oddly blank, withdrawn. Wary. As well he should be.

 

“Am I not permitted to visit my _husband_?” Loki asked, and he all but spat the word from his lips. He felt the sudden urge to pace, to move, like a feral animal. He kept himself where he was, but behind his back, his nails dug into the skin of his palms.

 

Thor was silent for a moment, his teeth worrying at the inside of his mouth in a habit that Loki had thought long since drilled out of him. He regarded Loki, clearly considering the implications of Loki’s tone, of Loki’s anger, weighing them against his own pride. Finally, he yielded, though not without a bare trace of reluctance about him.

 

“You have a right to be angry,” he said slowly.

 

“So you finally admit it?” Loki snarled. He thought his nails might be drawing his own blood with how hard he had to push back the sudden desire to wrap his hands around Thor’s neck.

 

“It was that or execution, Loki! What would you have had me do?” Thor asked, volume rising in his frustration, though his old arrogance had once more settled on his shoulders.

 

He was always so _convinced_ that he was right, that his choices were borne of something other than his own selfish pride, and oh, how Loki wished he had just slashed the knife across his throat. But even now, he knew he could not; a cold chill settled in his veins at the very thought.

 

Why was he so weak?

 

“There were other paths you could have taken had you wished to, you and I both know that very well. The first son of Odin, Asgard’s golden prince, and marriage was the only alternative to beheading?” Loki let out a laugh, and was gratified by the way Thor flinched at the sound, the way it pricked at Thor’s headstrong pride. “You could have found another way. Am I not your brother? Have I not been counted since my birth amongst your circle of friends? Would you have married Volstagg, I wonder, had he been in my place?”

 

Loki could not stand like this for a moment longer, still and composed while his skin was itching and crawling with the need to move. He jerked into motion, pacing back and forth, and once moving his steps were more like a cat’s prowl, every line of his body taut and menacing. Thor watched him, and though he stood very straight, his eyes flickered tellingly as each word struck home.

 

Loki sneered, and when next he spoke his voice was little more than an angry hiss. “You married me because you _wanted_ it, my own wishes be damned.”

 

“I did what I _could_ do,” Thor burst out, hand suspended uselessly in midair as he reached out to Loki – an old habit, one that even now refused to die. “Even that took many hours of arguing before the Council would yield. I _tried_ , Loki.”

 

“Not hard enough!”

 

A frustrated growl rose from Thor’s throat.

 

“I do not know what delusions you labour under, that you thought I was powerful enough to persuade not only the Council but also our father, that you should be released unpunished without any kind of constraint. I am not all-powerful.”

 

“How readily you miss the point. Don’t play the fool with me, Thor, I know you better,” Loki snapped. “My magic had already been stripped from me. If I was to be contained as well it should have been in a cell, not your bed!”

 

“I did not force you to -”

 

“No, you only forced me to _marry_ you. It would have been better if you had used me as your whore and had done with it. Instead you forced me into this - this _farce_ of a relationship, bound me to you for the rest of our lives to satisfy your own wretched desires. Should I be grateful, that I was not only used for my body but made into your living doll, to be dressed up and paraded around as though you had the right to own me, while I gritted my teeth and pretended to be happy?”

 

Loki could see the way Thor’s face was going white, every word he spoke a shard of ice in his heart, slashing away Thor’s veneer of confidence and hitting him where he was vulnerable. Thor was a fool, but he was not entirely stupid, not entirely blind to his own failings. Nothing hurt him as much as the truth.

 

But then, this was Thor. For all Loki’s words injured him, for all he knew their truth, he would not admit he had been wrong, not in a thousand years.

 

“I did what I had to do to keep you alive. And perhaps I -” Thor paused again, visibly conflicted, and when Loki caught his eyes again there was something in them that looked a lot like shame. “Perhaps I jumped to marriage too quickly, I will grant you that, but -”

 

“Enough of your excuses! Just _admit_ that you are a selfish, _cruel_ -”

 

“I _tried_ , Loki! _I tried_. They wanted to execute you, and they would not – _I_ could not-” Thor scrubbed a hand over his too-long beard. “I tried,” he finished, voice trailing off in a weak murmur.

 

Loki sneered at him. “How convenient that your efforts got you exactly what it was you wanted.”

 

“You think I wanted this? That I wanted you to be unhappy?”

 

“You cared for nothing more than your own satisfaction!”

 

“You were going to be _killed_! And perhaps you might have thought of something else in my place, but I have never been as quick as you, Loki.” Loki snorted, but Thor charged on as though there had been no interruption, gesturing brisk and firm to make his point. “Marriage was deemed appropriate because of its permanence, and because the Council had faith that I could restrain you if necessary. You were released into my custody, and I had hoped that with time and affection you would…”

 

“Would _what_? Love you? Want you? If you thought chaining me would make me love you back you are a greater fool than even I believed.”

 

“That was not…” Thor trailed off again, and he had a moment of sadness, of weakness, small in a way that seemed impossible for a man of his size. He rallied, though, as he always did. “It is done, now. You were permitted to live and wed to me, and in retaliation for saving your life you laid waste to Asgard.”

 

Loki opened his mouth angrily, but Thor hurried on before he could make his displeasure known.

 

“I acknowledge your right to be angry, do not mistake me,” he said quickly, raising his hands placatingly. Even now, he would placate Loki as best he could, the stupid, sentimental oaf. “I know I have made you unhappy, and it grieves me. That was never my intent, and for the pain I brought you I can only apologise.”

 

Thor paused for a moment, and he _did_ look pained. Loki scoffed at him, rolling the sharp words he wanted to speak around his tongue, but opting instead to let them simmer, and wait.

 

“I did what I did because it was the best option I could find at the time, but I knew even then that it would make you unhappy. Your anger with me is justified, but only to an extent. It does not excuse the gravity of what you have done,” Thor finished, low and serious, mouth twisted down in a grimace.

 

Loki regarded him for a moment, mulling it over, letting Thor wait and wonder. Then he laughed, falsely light, and Thor visibly startled, clearly having anticipated a rather different response. He had always underestimated Loki’s ability, and indeed Loki’s will, to provoke him.

 

“Don’t be absurd. The little stunt I pulled resulted in barely a scratch.”

 

“Barely a -” Thor inhaled, and just like that, the strange calmness about him was replaced with outright fury. The swiftness of his transition from kicked dog to wrathful king would have surprised Loki had he not known Thor better. Anger was easier, and Thor had always latched onto it in the place of other, more complicated emotions.

 

A trait they shared, perhaps, though Loki quickly shook off the thought.

 

“Do you have any idea of what you have done? The army you conjured here destroyed a great section of the city before we managed to fight them off. We are still counting the dead. Not just the warriors, but women, _children._ And you tell me it was _barely a scratch_?”

 

Thor dropped Mjolnir onto the balcony with a loud clang, whirling away so he no longer had to look at Loki, struggling to reign in the anger written in every twitch of his limbs. Loki just raised his eyebrows, studying him, his own anger temporarily set aside as he allowed himself to enjoy Thor’s struggles. The man never failed to amuse him. He was practically shaking, his hand opening and closing around where the handle of his hammer had been. He had let it go, though. Dropped it rather than given into the temptation to throw it at Loki with all his strength and fury.

 

Even now, he restrained himself. Perhaps Loki had underestimated him.

 

“You should be thanking me,” he said, tone falsely mild, just to watch the way Thor’s back went rigid and his knuckles went white. Loki was not a merciful man, and it was so easy to rile Thor. But he did not want him in a full-blown rage, not yet. “Asgard was already under threat from the Chitauri. It made sense to get it over with quickly.”

 

Thor slowly turned to face him, jaw clenched, muscles tight and tense in his anger. His eyes, though, were sharp, raking over Loki’s face. Loki shrugged lopsidedly, manufacturing a smile, hiding the sudden lurch of discomfort he felt under Thor’s hard stare. It was a strange response, but he could ignore it.

 

“Asgard defeated them resoundingly. Not without some casualties, I grant you, but that is the nature of war. Then I took care of what was left. There might be a few scurrying around in the dark places, of course, but they are no longer a threat to any of us. You should be grateful. The threat has been eliminated. Just as I had planned it.”

 

“Grateful,” Thor repeated. He stared for a moment, every inch of him drawn up in a righteous fury. But then his anger seemed to… harden, to close, the threat of impending violence turning into a steely bitterness. Rage that had burned like an open flame suddenly crushed beneath a wall of chill. And then Thor smiled, a sardonic, unpleasant twist of his lips, his eyes gone colder than ice.

 

It was wrong on him. He was supposed to start throwing things and shouting, but instead his anger had turned him to stone. Loki had made Thor, sentimental and foolish and headstrong to the last, turn cold and bitter like a man far beyond his years. Thor was explosive, reactive, and he had always been that way not matter what troubles plagued him. He was not supposed to turn cold.

 

Loki did not want this. He did _not_. The thought was strangely urgent, and he shoved it down viciously, buried it as best he could, forced himself to focus. There was no time for that now. Thor had opened his mouth to speak, still behind that impenetrable wall of cold.

 

“So that was your plan, was it? To destroy the Chitauri?”

 

Loki looked at him, and the words he had planned escaped him, the lies he had constructed turning to ash in his mouth. After a moment, he merely shrugged, and Thor snorted softly.

 

“And what of your attempt to kill me, was that part of the plan too?”

 

“Well, it had to be convincing,” Loki said. He tilted his head to the side and forced himself to smile, but even he could feel its strain. A chill had coursed through him at the memory of what he had almost done, inexplicable, inexorable despite how hard he stamped it down.

 

He thought Thor might have seen, though. Noticed the twitch as it shivered over his skin, revealing Loki for how he truly was, his own body betraying his mind. Once again, Loki brought failure down on his own head in his weakness.

 

Thor looked at him for a long moment, silent. Then he sighed, rubbing a hand over his face and beard in a self-soothing gesture, the particular twist of his mouth looking almost regretful, as though he were berating himself for his words - but surely that could not be right. When Thor looked over at Loki again, that sad, knowing look was written all over his face, as though he could see right through to the very heart of him. Thor looked, and he breathed out a long breath, tension loosening in his shoulders and his anger draining away.

 

“What’s the use?” he muttered under his breath, running a tired hand through his hair.

 

“Are you not angry?” Loki asked – goaded, really - the words leaving him before he even had time to think them through. It was an automatic impulse, because he could never resist, never let Thor settle, and he ignored the easing of the tension in his chest when the coldness, the hardness so wrong on Thor, was gone.

 

“I am beyond anger now. You will always be this way, and I cannot do a thrice-damned thing about it. I thought I was helping you.” Thor scrubbed his hand over his face again, weary beyond his years.

 

“What are you babbling about now?”

 

Thor looked resigned, where he should have been angry. He _had_ been angry. And he should still have been, despite whatever that look meant. But today he kept swinging back and forth, angry one minute then sad the next for reasons Loki could not discern. And he should have known, should have been able to, for he knew Thor better than anyone. At least, he had. But this Thor was changed, and Loki could not quite predict him anymore.

 

It was… uncomfortable. He did not like it. Things were not supposed to be this way.

 

“I would not have made you marry me if I had a better choice. I thought – I _hoped_ that I could make you happy.”

 

“Ah yes, _you thought_ ,” Loki said, and just like that he was back on familiar footing, slipping comfortably back into snide remarks. “Your arrogant presumptions truly are the catalyst for most of my life’s suffering.”

 

“You were getting better,” Thor said, quiet but full of conviction, apparently unfazed by Loki’s disgust. “But I was fool enough to return your magic too early, and you came back worse than you have ever been.”

 

“What are you -” Loki started, before he realised what it was Thor must have been thinking about. There was no mistaking _that_ look on his face. Loki had seen it far too many times. “Are you back on this supposed madness of mine?”

 

Thor said nothing, but from the way his jaw clenched Loki could see that was exactly what he had been referring to.

 

“Thor,” Loki said, deceptively quiet, expression dangerous. “For the last time. I. Am not. _Mad_.”

 

“Not most of the time,” Thor said, _that look_ on his face again, and Loki was half tempted to smack it off. “But I have known you long enough to notice certain… patterns emerging. Most of the time you are sane, as far as these things go. But you are not always the same Loki.”

 

Anger bubbled beneath Loki’s skin, clawing up his throat, twisting his lips into an ugly sneer. Loki laughed aloud at Thor’s words, the sound brittle and cold, his feelings on the subject unmistakable.

 

“Are we not always changing? How flattering, that you view this phenomenon as specific to me,” Loki mocked, condescending in exactly the way he knew needled Thor, because it made him feel every inch the fool he was. Thor did not rise to the bait, though Loki could see the way he bristled as he had always done, as though it had been conditioned into him.

 

“We have never spoken of this plainly. You always become defensive, and I am loathe to anger you without cause, but I doubt there is much worse you can do than what you have already done,” Thor said. It was spoken lightly, as though it were meant as a joke, but his expression was grim and the twist of his lips had gone bitter again. “We shall speak of it now.”

 

“And you assume, I suppose, that I will listen? That I will stay here and allow you to blather on at me, and pretend I am in agreement?”

 

“I suppose nothing, Loki. And I will be as brief as I can, I assure you, for I do not relish this. But I know you, and I have known you for as long as you have known me. You have always been changeable, both in mood and behaviour, and I have learned to expect your unpredictability. But what you did, what you have been doing over the past years – it is beyond that. Your mind is not well.”

 

Loki snapped.

 

In barely a breath, he had flicked a throwing knife out of his sleeve, flinging it straight at Thor’s head. Thor dodged, and it went sailing past him and over the balcony, disappearing into the darkening sky as it fell. Loki was panting, chest heaving, teeth bared and hand still outstretched from where he had thrown.

 

But he had thrown far too slow. He knew it, because he had done it on purpose, hesitated a fraction of a second too long before he threw the blade, despite his fury, despite even his own intent. He had paused just before throwing, despite the reddening around the edges of his vision, to give Thor enough time to dodge.

 

He could not kill him. Could not even bring himself to hurt him. No matter how angry he was, how much Thor deserved it, Loki could not do it.

 

His next breath came out as a choked off gasp, and the pressure was building and building until he felt he might explode, until he wanted to scream just to relieve it, no matter how foolish he might seem. When had he become so weak?

 

“Loki,” Thor said softly, trying to draw his attention away from the dark spaces in his head, and when had Loki grown so transparent? Thor was wary but soothing, his posture as non-combative as possible, so _obviously_ arranged, as he tried to calm Loki down yet _again_.

 

“I don’t understand,” Loki said, his voice barely above a whisper. He had not meant to say it, his lips moving of their own accord, his mind fractured, split in two different places at once.

 

“I know. I do not understand you either,” Thor said gently, lightly, as though he thought the words might help. His eyes were still flicking over Loki, watching his every move, his every breath. Not warily, though. No, the stupid oaf was _concerned_. He should have wanted Loki dead, but he just…

 

“ _Why_?” Loki breathed, and he did not even know what he was asking, what he wanted Thor to explain, whether he wanted Thor to say anything at all.

 

Thor spoke, though. He always did, headstrong and foolish as he had always been.

 

“Because I love you,” he said.

 

And it was exactly the kind of response Thor would always give, sentimental and illogical to the last. It was hardly any sort of explanation, yet vague enough to encompass all that had happened between them in a gesture as grand and sweeping as Thor had ever made. Thor loved him, so he would not fight. Thor loved him, so he would forgive Loki anything. So no matter what Loki did, Thor could not bring himself to hurt him.

 

It was impossible. And it did not explain Loki’s own predicament. Even if Thor were sentimental beyond all rhyme and reason, Loki would never have spared Thor’s life because Thor loved _him_.

 

So why had he spared him?

 

He thought he knew the answer from the way his heart stuttered and clenched, but he could not, he _could_ not.

 

“Still?” he asked, his mind reeling with the force of his own realisation.

 

It was _impossible_. Loki could not. Surely he was not that much a fool.

 

Thor’s lips twitched in an attempt at a smile. “Always. I have always loved you, and I always will. It seems that is my lot to bear in life.”

 

Thor probably meant it to be self-deprecating, to soften his intensity for fear that Loki would turn skittish, but it rang too true. He seemed to realise it too, for his expression went sombre, his eyes distant as he looked away. He looked sad again, stricken with a strange kind of grief, old and tired and lost, his loneliness written all over his face.

 

“I love you,” Thor murmured, low enough that he could have been talking to himself. “And when you are gone you take all the joy in the world with you.”

 

Loki swallowed around a lump in his throat, his heart thudding in his chest. He wanted to lash out, to shout, anything to get rid of what he was feeling, but he could not. His body was rendered useless, ignoring the commands of his mind, bowing to the weakness of his heart. He had lost control, his iron-clad will dissolving, his anger dashed to the wind.

 

For a moment, Loki was afraid.

 

He tried to summon his anger again, remembered all Thor had said and done, all the slights and grievances and hurts he had inflicted, but Loki was so tired. It had burned for so long, but now the flame of it flickered out. Its embers still smouldered, and he knew without doubt that it was not gone, but it would not come to him. Not now.

 

Not yet.

 

“You are a fool,” he said. He meant it more than he had ever meant anything.

 

“I know. Believe me, I know,” Thor answered, breathing out another shuddering breath, and then words were spilling faster and faster from his mouth, spoken with the urgency of one who had kept them inside for far too long. “I have always known that loving you would bring me pain. And it does, over and over and over again, until I am sick with it. Until I cannot sleep or eat or even think, either because you’ve hurt me or because I cannot _have_ you, cannot make you love like I love you. Yet no matter what happens I _cannot stop_.”

 

Thor’s hand struck the railing, the sound ringing through Loki’s ears. Then he slumped over the railing, panting, gripping it tightly between his fists, all frustration and abject misery, his back bared to Loki, far beyond any pretence of defending himself.

 

It would have been so easy to kill him. Loki had more knives hidden about his body, or he could move up swiftly and silently behind Thor and stab a blade through his heart. His bared back was almost like a dare, a challenge, for Thor had already dodged one knife tonight, and he knew Loki better than to think it was the only one he carried. He bared his back and put his life in the hands of a man who had already tried to kill him many times over, as though asking Loki to put him out of his misery. Thor would not fight his death. He had given up on the battlefield, and he would give up now.

 

Loki should have been happy, too see him so broken, so apathetic. But instead it hurt, like a blade twisting into his gut as he stared at Thor’s turned back, running through every way he could kill him but coming to the inescapable conclusion that he could not do it, could not imagine a world without Thor in it.

 

It hurt. And it should not have done, for Loki was still so bitter, so resentful. He had not forgiven Thor, would probably _never_ forgive him. He was not a soft man, would _never_ be soft, and he hoarded his grudges like a dragon hoarded treasure. There was no forgiveness in Loki’s heart. And he was still so angry – angry, though the feeling seemed now to slip through his fingers like water, eluding him when he needed its heat more than ever.

 

But it hurt.

 

No matter how many times Loki lied to him, even outright betrayed him, Thor would always let him back in. He kept trusting him, no matter how many times he was proven wrong. Yet still Thor trusted him.

 

It did not matter what Thor did, whether he held his weapon in his hand and watched Loki like a hawk, or whether he tilted his head back willingly so Loki could cut his throat. Thor was just as helpless before him either way.

 

Thor loved him. Somehow, impossibly, Thor still loved him.

 

Loki did not know quite what he felt, then. And if he did, it was not something to which he was willing to give name. He knew only that something in him seemed to lighten, as though he had broken the surface of the water to takes fresh gasps of air.

 

The night air was pleasantly cool, the last rays of the sun disappearing over the horizon, light giving way to the beauty of the night sky. And on this day, in this moment, in this breath… Loki’s anger did not matter.

 

He moved forward, reaching out a tentative hand to place on Thor’s shoulder. Thor did not turn to him, closing his eyes as though in pain, lowering his head like a repentant child. Loki took a breath, and for a moment he felt frozen, torn between two places, staring at his arm at though it were no longer connected to his body. But then his body was moving of its own accord, unfettered by the restraints of his mind, more honest, perhaps, than Loki liked to admit.

 

He pushed on Thor’s shoulder to turn him around, and when Thor allowed it, when he allowed his weary frame to move at Loki’s behest, Loki tucked himself up against him. Wrapped his arms around Thor’s neck, in a way that felt like an admission, a concession he could not explain even within his own mind, his heart racing as he pressed his face against Thor’s shoulder.

 

Thor stiffened, and for a moment Loki thought he might push him away. But then Thor let out a great shuddering breath and his arms were around Loki, cradling him closer, wrapping around him strong and tight and doing nothing to conceal his desperation. Thor buried his face in Loki’s hair, breathing him in, and his body was trembling in Loki’s grip.

 

“I should not,” he murmured, even as he pressed a hand against the back of Loki’s head so he could hold him better. “I should not.”

 

He was crying, Loki realised, and the knowledge went through him like a shock. Thor was crying.

 

It was some minutes before Thor drew back. His eyes were red, and he brushed at them with his thumb, his breathing slowly steadying. He still looked grim and weary, but there was something brighter in his face again. For all that had transpired between them, for all the harm Loki brought, his touch still soothed Thor’s battered heart, his presence still brought Thor joy.

 

It was impossible. And yet there it was.

 

Thor reached out to cup Loki’s face, tracing the curve of his lips, his cheekbones, his chin, blue eyes gone soft. Loki’s eyes fluttered shut, and he let Thor press a kiss to his forehead, to his temple, to each of his cheeks. He opened his eyes when Thor stopped, for he had expected a kiss on the lips and was given none. Thor had withdrawn, and there was a nervous twist to his lips.

 

“Will you stay?” he asked. His voice was still rough from his tears, his eyes guarded once more, as though he did not dare to hope.

 

It would not be easy. Even Thor, in all his self-assurance and endless optimism, knew that. Asgard would never forget the blood Loki had spilled. Loki was a criminal, and not even the king’s love would protect him from the anger of the people. The Council would call for his head. Thor would have to turn his back on the demands of his own people, betray the trust they had in him both as a man and a king, to keep Loki.

 

And for all that, Loki would never be his. He could not be, for it was not in his nature. He was as fickle and changing as the breeze, untameable, unchangeable. He came and went as it pleased him. No chain could bind him, no prison contain him. There was no lock he could not pick, and no plea that could sway his heart.

 

Loki was Loki, and he would not stay in one place forever.

 

But that did not stop the earth from pulling him down.

 

“I will never be what you want me to be,” he told Thor, in lieu of a thousand other things that danced on his tongue, worries and questions and lies and confessions he could not admit to, even now. But this, he knew. He would never be what it was Thor wanted. Because Thor wanted him to stay, wanted to sleep beside him every night, to share their bed and thoughts and _lives_ , but it was in Loki’s very nature to leave.

 

Thor just looked at him, tracing a finger down the bone of his cheek, his love written all over his face for all the sadness in his eyes.

 

“I know,” he murmured. And Loki believed him.

 

Loki wondered if Thor knew just what he was asking for. If Thor knew that this relationship would destroy the both of them, for there was too much blood between them, too much anger, too much hate. The tenderness of Thor’s love would turn hard, for he always wanted what Loki did not have in him to give, and his sad acceptance would soon turn bitter. Thor would always be chasing him, and Loki would always run, and Thor’s outstretched hands would turn to shackles as his love turned to jealousy, his happiness to hate, his tenderness to control.

 

There was no other way. For there were knives in Loki’s sleeves that called for Thor’s blood, endless hatred secreted away in his heart. Thor could soften Loki, yet Loki took too much pleasure in twisting the knife in Thor’s back, hurting him because he could.

 

They would destroy one another. Loki did not, _could_ not, see any other way. He had not forgiven Thor, and Thor had not forgiven him. He was a creature of logic while Thor followed his heart, calculating where Thor was brash, cold where Thor burned as hot as the sun. There was too much animosity between them, centuries of resentment and suffering and fighting. Loki could not simply let that go. And neither, for all his talk, could Thor.

 

What did they have, but their anger?

 

But Thor was looking at him, eyes soft and imploring, older and sadder than he should have been yet still looking at Loki as though Loki had hung the moon. As though Loki were worth the love he bestowed upon him. Thor looked at him like he believed things could be different, could be better. Like Thor believed they would be happy.

 

He had too much faith by far.

 

“Please,” Thor murmured. Just please. As simple and open and vulnerable as his love. No embellishment, no pretence, no eloquent declarations or passionate speeches. Thor did not need them, for the feelings of his heart were written all over his face. He just looked Loki in the eye, and said please.

 

He was a fool. A simple, arrogant, headstrong fool. He had no right to look at Loki like that, no right to unravel him with only one, stupid word.

 

Loki was weak.

 

“I will stay,” he said, for he was every bit as foolish as Thor. It would not be forever. He could never let go of his anger, could never truly forgive, not for all the world. But for now, he would stay.

 

Thor smiled, and it was small, tempered by the lingering tension between them and the knowledge of the trouble that lay ahead of them, but it was entirely sincere. Relieved, loving, and honest, for all that his eyes gleamed with unshed tears, though whether they were in happiness or sadness Loki did not know. He could feel the warmth of that smile, the warmth of _Thor_ , in his very bones. And in that moment, Loki let himself go. He leaned forward and kissed Thor, tangling his fingers in golden hair, feeling the scratch of Thor’s beard against his cheeks and not caring a whit, too caught up in the feel of Thor’s lips against his.

 

It was impossible. But there it was.

 

Thor kissed him back on a sound like a sob, pressing as close as he was able, for all the harm Loki had done him. And when they parted, Thor peppered kisses over Loki’s face and neck with a desperate reverence, snatching everything he could get as though he knew it could not last.

 

And it could not, of that Loki was certain. But when Thor took him by the hand to lead him inside, wiping at his reddened eyes as though Loki had not felt his tears in the trembling of Thor’s lips, Loki felt… soft.

 

He knew they would argue, and fight, and hate one another, as inevitable as the rising and setting of the sun. Thor was a king and Loki a killer, and there could be no peace between them. They were as different and night and day, and no amount of love could ever put their grievances to rest.

 

But Thor loved him. He loved him.

 

For now, for tonight, it was enough.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning** - Attempted murder of a spouse. Loki and Thor engage in battle, which is instigated by Loki, as Thor is reluctant to fight. Thor is wounded repeatedly by Loki's hand, and then Loki pins him down with every intention of killing him (though in the end he does not do so). There is also an instance at a later point of Loki throwing a knife at Thor.
> 
>  
> 
> So, Captain America: The Winter Soldier kind of screwed me over a bit, but I loved the film too much to muster up much of a complaint. For the record, I had the battle scene written ages ago. It's my own fault for not finishing this chapter quicker.
> 
> On that note, thank you so much to everyone who's stuck with me over the long course of this fic. Your support and feedback has made me so happy.


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